


that first, initial feeling

by varnes



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varnes/pseuds/varnes
Summary: “You’re called theTreasure Chest,” Shane says blankly to the man behind the counter, who is looking at him with a completely neutral expression. His name tag suggests that he is called Ryan. “It’s -- literally every sex shop in the history of sex shops was called The Treasure Chest. I’m pretty sure it’s in the by-laws.”“The by-laws ... for sex shops?” Ryan asks.Shane fixes him with a look. He sells crystals, which means he’s a con man, which means he’s a deviant of at least some kind, which means he’s been to a sex shop and he knows exactly what Shane means. “Listen,” Shane says, and then nothing else, because Ryan The Counter Man pulls an arm behind his head to stretch and the sight of his surprisingly beefy arms short-circuits Shane’s brain.The man blinks patiently at him. “I’m listening,” he says, encouragingly.OR: An AU in which Ryan runs a crystals store, and Shane is beguiled by him anyway.





	1. do you always trust your first initial feeling

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever again post a non-chaptered fic? who knows. maybe one day i'll write a oneshot again, but today is not that day! anyway, remember when ryan and shane were talking about crystals and ryan admitted he used to collect them and claimed it was because he liked "the aesthetic"? haha, ok ryan. sure, buddy. and we all made vision boards in 2009 because we loved scrapbooking.

The shop is called The Treasure Chest, so you can understand why Shane thought he was walking into a sex shop. You can understand why he has thought it was a sex shop for the last year and a half, since it opened, sandwiched between Bruno’s Bagels and Tarot for Tots.

In hindsight, admittedly, this would be odd placement for a sex shop; but then again, it’s LA.

He ducks in right before closing, on a Tuesday, because it catches his eye on the drive home and he remembers that he’s running short on a few things; traffic is bad because traffic is always bad, so he figures he’ll break up the drive with a fun, sexy detour. Also, he’s extremely hopped up on DayQuil and it’s possible that he’s dying of the plague, and the idea of sitting in his car for one more second makes him want to throw himself into oncoming traffic.

Only: it’s not a sex shop.

They sell fucking _crystals._

“You’re called _The Treasure Chest_ ,” Shane says blankly to the man behind the counter, who is looking at him with a completely neutral expression. His name tag suggests that he is called Ryan. “It’s -- literally every sex shop in the history of sex shops was called The Treasure Chest. I’m pretty sure it’s in the by-laws.”

“The by-laws ... for sex shops?” Ryan asks.

Shane fixes him with a look. He sells crystals, which means he’s a con man, which means he’s a deviant of at least some kind, which means he’s been to a sex shop and he knows exactly what Shane means. “Listen,” Shane says, and then nothing else, because Ryan The Counter Man pulls an arm behind his head to stretch and the sight of his surprisingly beefy arms short-circuits Shane’s brain.

The man blinks patiently at him. “I’m listening,” he says, encouragingly.

“I forget,” he says, too-honest in the wake of his surprise. He gives his head a little shake as the man laughs. “Shut up. I’m not on my A-game, here. I’m very thrown off by you not being a sex shop.”

“So -- just to clarify -- you were _looking_ for a sex shop?”

Shane thinks he’s being teased. He peers closer at Counter Man Ryan, trying to get a read on him, but the DayQuil is making his brain kind of fuzzy and he’s having difficulty with nuance.

“I’m an adult,” he mutters at last, defensive. “I can go to sex shops if I want.”

“Sure,” Ryan acquiesces agreeably. “Well -- what were you going to buy?”

Shane makes a face. “That is an extremely personal question,” he says, with admittedly a somewhat prudish wrinkle of his nose. It’s not that Shane is embarrassed about sex, but he usually doesn’t bring it up in his first conversation with people, either. He tends to follow the Midwestern rules of engagement when it comes to this sort of thing, which is Don’t Talk About It Except To The Person You’re Doing It With.

Ryan has the good graces to look somewhat abashed. “Sorry -- yeah, you’re right. I just ... I thought maybe it might be something we could help you with here, since you stopped in and all. I’d hate for you to leave disappointed.”

“I’m already disappointed,” Shane tells him. “Both because you’re _not_ a sex shop and because you _are_ a con man.”

“A _con_ man?! _Wow,_ okay. Do you usually barge into people’s places of business and immediately start accusing them of crimes?”

Ryan has a point, which Shane decides to ignore. “You sell crystals! Crystals are cons! They’re as big a con as the wellness industry, and possibly an even bigger con than psychics.”

“Okay, there’s -- a lot to unpack here,” Ryan says, frowning. “I’m not gonna even get into the psychic thing because -- well, because sometimes they are indeed con men. But I can’t believe you’re comparing us to the _wellness industry._ That’s really harsh, dude.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. He points at the nearest crystal to him, a kind of pink-ish, white-ish cluster of ... whatever. Stone of some kind. “This says that it has the power to ...” he squints. “ _Combat anxiety_ , Jesus Christ. It’s a rock. It’s a _rock_ , Ryan.”

“And placebos are basically candy but they help people anyway,” Ryan answers, serene but in a way that makes it obvious that he’s only projecting serenity and is actually extremely offended. Shane guesses that he is either an only child or a older sibling, because no younger sibling worth their salt would be so transparently bothered by someone insulting them. “The human brain has an incredible capacity to affect change on the body. Sometimes believing really _is_ enough to stimulate healing.”

“Fascinating,” says Shane, with the air of someone who is not fascinated. He picks up the instruction card and reads: “‘Warm the crystal over low heat. Hold in the palm of your hand and breathe evenly and deeply on a four-count. Repeat as necessary.’ This is literally just like ... cognitive behavioral therapy. It’s not the crystal, it’s the _breathing_.”

Ryan shrugs. “Maybe, but they wouldn’t do the breathing without the crystal,” he points out.

Shane does not have an answer to that, because Ryan has a point. Still: “So -- you agree that I’m right?” he clarifies. “Crystals are bullshit?”

“I agree with you that CBT can be effective,” Ryan says.

“I think I hate you a little.”

Ryan grins. He looks delighted by this. “That’s fine.”

“I’m going now,” Shane announces, and then -- he’ll blame this on the DayQuil, later -- adds, “but I want you and your biceps to know that I’m disappointed in you.”

Ryan blinks at him. “Me and my biceps?” he repeats.

“You’re both responsible,” Shane tells him, pointing a stern finger, and then backs out the door.

\--

Probably he shouldn’t go back, is what Shane thinks. He doesn’t believe in crystals and Ryan’s biceps weren’t _that_ big. If it were up to Shane, he’d forget all about The Treasure Chest and dedicate that brain space to finding a decent place near him where he can restock on his bedroom accoutrements.

But Shane works for Buzzfeed.

Usually this is fine, and is in fact a uniquely stable gig in the current media climate, but sometimes it means that he gets roped into weird videos that he wishes he didn’t get roped into.

“Come on,” says Jen. “We _need_ you. Everyone else at this stupid company believes crystals are legit except for Andrew, and Andrew is in fucking -- Taiwan or something.”

“Why is Andrew in Taiwan?” Shane asks, frowning. He really should have worked harder to be the co-host on _Worth It_. Andrew gets to take all the cool trips.

“It’s the anniversary,” Jen says, shrugging. “They’re doing like some whirlwind tour to celebrate. I don’t know. I block it all out because if I don’t I have difficulty being friends with them out of jealousy.”

Shane laughs. He hadn’t known Jen that well before they all did Test Friends, but she’s his favorite of the group, because she’s as practical as he is and always gives it to him straight. Plus, she likes to be lured into cheating whenever they do a video, and Shane is also very prone to cheating, both because it makes a good video and because he dislikes trying at things generally.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll be in your dumb video about crystals. But all my takes are going to be just some boring variation of me saying that crystals are meaningless except as a pretty result of geological processes.”

Jen breaks into a grin. “That’s my boy,” she says. “Now if I could just track down a fucking reasonably priced crystal shop that wasn’t run by an unbearable white woman, we’d be off and running.”

Shane makes a face that he instantly wishes he hadn’t made when Jen’s eyes go sharp and focused. He knows he’s been made even before she asks, so he admits on a sigh, “I think I know a place. But please don’t tell him I sent you. Please don’t even indicate that I am in this video. Please keep me out of it completely.”

“Scout’s honor,” promises Jen, and kisses him on the cheek.

\--

“Jen said you recommended me,” Ryan says, the seconds he sees him. He’s in the Buzzfeed office for what Shane assumes is the first time, eyes wide as he takes in the people and the space around him. He’s been abandoned, apparently, by whoever was supposed to meet him; Shane has the feeling that this was done on purpose, to torment Shane, because he works at a place where the devil clearly has free reign.

“Jen is a traitor and I’m quitting,” Shane answers, as serenely as possible given that Ryan is wearing a fucking _muscle tee_ and his arms are just -- _out there_ , for the world to see. “I didn’t _recommend_ you. I said you weren’t an unbearable white woman.”

“Well, it’s nice to get factual reviews,” Ryan muses. “Hey, I brought you something.”

Shane frowns. “What is it?” he asks, half expecting Ryan to pull out something sex-shop-related from his pocket.

Instead, Ryan produces a dark red stone. “It’s garnet. For your sexual dysfunction,” he says, sounding earnest.

“I don’t have _sexual_ \-- ” Shane catches Curly glancing at him with eyebrows raised and lowers his voice. “My sexual function is fine, thanks. And even if it weren’t, these fucking rocks wouldn’t work, because they’re _rocks._ ”

“Crystals aren’t actually rocks,” counters Ryan, serene. “They start off as liquid particles that solidify, whereas rocks are solids from the outset and are simply exposed on the surface or underlying the soil.”

Despite himself, Shane laughs. “Fuck you,” he says affably, and takes the stone from Ryan’s still-outstretched hand, tossing it carelessly onto his desk. “Thanks. I guess. Though for the record that is not what I was shopping for.”

Ryan’s eyes are bright. “Well, I was told that it’s extremely personal to ask,” he points out, “so I just went with what I assume most men are worried about.”

“I’m not worried about anything,” Shane tells him, trying to keep a leer out of his voice. He doesn’t want to make it weird. “I just needed to restock. On some items.”

“ _Sexual_ items,” Ryan says.

“This is actually my workplace,” Shane reminds him. “These people you see are my coworkers.” Ryan looks abashed, glancing around like he hadn’t noticed they weren’t alone, and it’s so earnest that Shane takes pity on him. “It’s okay. I’ve seen half of them in lingerie. It’s a unique professional environment.”

Ryan laughs and shifts subtly forward, toward Shane.

_Huh_ , Shane thinks, noticing.

“Well, glad I’m not getting you fired,” Ryan says. “You can tell people the stone is for something else. Garnet is also good for the metabolism and can help purify the blood.”

Shane laughs. “Sure. I’ll tell them it’s here for _blood purification purposes_ ,” he says, and then waves Jen over, letting her lead Ryan away by the elbow. He watches them go, and isn’t sure why except that he wants to see whether Ryan glances back at him before they round the corner.

Ryan does.

\--

“Crystals are fake,” Shane says blandly, to camera. Ryan is standing behind Jen, his eyebrows raised, but just because he’s got a nice jawline and enormous arms and a surprisingly plush-looking mouth, just because he leans _untowardly_ toward Shane when Shane is speaking, just because he looks like he just hopped off the cover of Frat Boys Weekly, doesn’t mean that Shane is going to compromise his _beliefs_. He flips the crystal he’s been given into the air. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. It feels like it has mass. It is very pretty. It cannot cure cancer.”

“Okay, _nobody said_ it was going to cure cancer,” Ryan protests. “I just said it had healing properties.”

“You know that people with cancer are gonna buy it,” Shane accuses, pointing a finger. “You know that crystal-believing-cancer-havers are going to buy this crystal and not go to a doctor and then they’re going to _die_ of _cancer._ ”

“That’s not going to happen,” Ryan snaps. “I give extremely clear instructions. I _always_ tell them that crystals work _in conjunction_ with traditional medicine. I would never let -- ”

“Oh come on, you think people are going to follow the instructions of their _crystal_ dealer? People don’t even listen to their _doctors_ when they say they have to finish the whole treatment of antibiotics and now we have superbugs!”

“Are you seriously blaming _crystals_ for superbugs?”

Shane pauses. “... No,” he says after a moment. “But they certainly aren’t helping.”

Jen raises her hand. “Enough,” she says. “Ryan, go sit next to Shane.”

“What?” Ryan asks, blinking. “But I already did my bit.”

“Yeah, but I want you on camera together,” Jen says. “He’s just going to talk to you anyway. It might as well be usable.”

Ryan frowns, but obeys, because he doesn’t work at Buzzfeed and hasn’t learned that when Jen gets that look in her eye it means that bad things are on the horizon. Shane squints at her suspiciously, but she makes a point of leaning in to talk to TJ, as if absorbed in some aspect of filming that he is pretty sure she doesn’t give a shit about.

Ryan takes a seat next to him and patiently lets one of the interns hook him up to a mic.

“I don’t tell people they cure cancer,” Ryan mutters to him, not turning his head.

Shane wilts, a little. “I don’t think that you personally sell crystals to people with cancer in order to make them eschew traditional medicine,” he allows. “I just think that the, like, crystal _industry_ is suspect.”

The intern finishes with Ryan’s microphone and backs away from them like she’s afraid they’re going to turn on her instead of each other. Shane is vaguely aware that the cameras are rolling and that Jen is leaning forward in that way she has when she thinks she’s gotten something good.

Ryan’s brow furrows. “Okay but like, you know I’m _part_ of the ‘crystal industry,’ right?” he asks, using finger quotes around ‘crystal industry.’ “And also that I really do think they have healing properties?”

Shane narrows his eyes, leaning in and prodding a finger into Ryan’s chest. “No you don’t,” he accuses, but in a kind of friendly way. “Come on. You don’t. Do you?”

“ _Yes_ , dude,” Ryan tells him. “There is plenty of hard evidence to suggest -- ”

“Not hard evidence, you can’t call it _hard evidence_ ,” Shane interrupts. “Anecdotes. Personal experience. Soft evidence at best.”

“There’s no such thing as _soft evidence_ , but sure. Whatever. There are hundreds of thousands of people each day who experience the positive and powerful effect of crystals. Just because you don’t doesn’t mean it’s not real. Isn’t there anything you believe in that you haven’t personally experienced?”

Shane snorts. “Sure -- the nonlinear nature of time on a quantum scale,” he says. “I believe in what can be observed and measured. Call me a skeptic but that rules _magic crystals_ right out.” He thinks that maybe Ryan isn’t lying, that maybe he really _does_ believe this crap; this is good for Ryan’s moral character, but terrible for his critical thinking skills.

“They’re not _magic_ ,” Ryan argues. There’s a little twitch in the corner of his eye. He folds his arms across his chest in a way clearly meant to indicate that he thinks Shane is an asshole. “They’re _energy_. Everything that exists is made up of energy, and the interactions between these energies is what generates their power.”

“I -- ” Shane cuts off with a half laugh, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “No. No, that’s not what happens. At _best_ I will give you that the belief of the user can produce the placebo effect as a result of complex and poorly understand neurological processes. But it’s not the crystals _themselves_.”

“Or is it?” Ryan asks.

“It’s not,” Shane assures him.

“Well, who’s to say? The Treasure Chest is open 8am to 5pm, Monday through Friday,” Ryan says to camera, grinning. Despite himself, Shane laughs. Ryan’s a natural onscreen. Ryan is funny and seems to care about people with cancer. Ryan believes in CBT. Ryan has, just, _really really really good arms._

Shane keeps his face carefully neutral. “The Treasure Chest is not a sex shop,” he says. “I know you all assumed it was, given its name, but I can assure you from experience that is just a normal crystal shop, selling normal crystals.”

Beside him, Ryan lets out a loud shout of a laugh and follows it with a wheeze that makes Shane’s heart flip over, for some stupid reason he plans to adamantly refuse to investigate. “Okay, when you say it like that, it makes it sound like we are definitely a sex shop.”

Shane shakes his head with exaggerated vigor. “Not a sex shop,” he repeats, and winks to the camera.

“Stop winking!” Ryan cries. “We’re not a sex shop!”

“You certainly are not,” Shane agrees, winking again.

Ryan is laughing but also irritated, which is Shane’s very favorite mixed emotion. He likes how it looks on Ryan. He likes how Ryan’s jaw twitches slightly and he shifts forward, towards Shane, like he thinks that he can physically sway Shane into doing what he wants.

“We’re not,” Ryan says, grinning a little helplessly. “We aren’t. We are a crystal shop. We sell crystals.”

Jen pokes her head out from behind the camera, holding both her thumbs up. “That’s great, boys. You crushed it. Ryan, we’ll be in touch with a timeline of when we think the video will be up, and of course if you give your details to Shane we can make sure to include them in the links below the clip.”

Shane gives Jen a look, because she is not being as subtle as she thinks she is, but as per usual Jen doesn’t give a shit about Shane’s opinion and just flashes him a big grin and another thumbs up. Shane takes back all the nice things he’s so recently been thinking about her. She’s the worst, and they are nemeses.

Ryan nods, earnest and attentive as the same intern dutifully returns to unclip him from the mic. “So — uh, for the info, is your email listed on the site somewhere, or ... ?”

Shane actually has business cards, which has always felt kind of embarrassing and out-of-touch given his place of employment, but he fishes one out of his wallet anyway. “My — you can email me,” he says. “But if you sign me up for your weekly newsletter I’ll report you to the Better Business Bureau.”

Ryan barks out a laugh. “Okay, _Buzzfeed_ ,” he says. “Just so long as you don’t put me a listicle.”

“Ten Crystal Shops To Avoid At All Costs.”

“We Tried Every Crystal Shop In LA — Here’s What We Learned.”

“You’re a natural,” Shane compliments. “Want a job?”

“I have a job.”

“Yeah, but your job is fake.”

“That’s pretty rich coming from a man whose last video was called _We Guess The Price of White T-Shirts._ ”

Shane’s jaw drops a little, because it’s such a direct hit and because it means that Ryan looked him up. Ryan watched his videos. Ryan, with his earnest eyes and enormous arms, typed _Shane Madej_ into Google search, curious.

Ryan is currently peering in amusement at him, head tipped to the side, clearly waiting for a rejoinder. Shane clears his throat and says primly, “It was commentary on the t-shirt economy as a microcosm of global capitalism.”

Ryan quirks a brow and says nothing, lips twitching.

“Look, they can’t all be winners,” Shane admits, and is rewarded with one of Ryan’s sharp laughs, his mouth stretched wide and head tipped back, hand slapped to his chest. “Anyway, joke’s on you because you’re the one who watched it, apparently.”

Ryan goes stiff in the shoulders. “No I didn’t,” he says, and then, “I mean — even if I did. It was research. I don’t care what t-shirts cost.”

_Oh no_ , Shane thinks, watching him with increasing distress. _He’s a nerd._

Ryan the crystal conman was one thing; Ryan the endearing believer is another. Shane has always been weak for nerds; not the kind who cosplay _Rick and Morty_ or whatever, necessarily, but the kind that love what they love with charming honesty and enthusiasm. He feels oddly defensive on their behalf — he’s always thought it took a lot of courage to love things out loud and envied their ability to just get swept up in things.  

Shane raises his eyebrows. “Research, huh?” he asks. “What were you researching?”

Ryan scowls at him, clearly displeased with the direction the conversation has taken. “You,” he says, sticking his chin out defiantly.

Shane grins. “And what did your research turn up?”

“That you know shit about the t-shirt economy as a microcosm of global capitalism,” Ryan says, and Shane laughs so hard he has to put his head on the table.

\--

The video turns out great. Even Shane can admit it, watching over Jen’s shoulder; he and Ryan have good chemistry, and she did a great job with the wrap-up, managing to hit a middle ground between ‘crystals are stupid’ and ‘crystals will cure your anxiety.’ It’s titled _Skeptics Try Crystals For The First Time_ , which Shane is pretty sure is going to get them a bunch of hits from teens who think they’re talking about some kind of street drug, but whatever. Hits are hits.

Sara is the only other person in the video besides him who is properly skeptic, so he thinks it’s kind of cheating to put it in the title, but that’s fine.

“He’s cute, the crystals guy,” she says, kicking her feet up onto his lap. He was her intern, technically, but they’ve been seated next to each other from day one. She’d briefly moved over to be closer to the You Do You girls before Ashly and Brittany left, but he’d never let anyone else sit there. It was Sara’s seat, even if she was sitting elsewhere.

Shane flicks at her ankle. “Sara,” he says warningly.

“What? I’m just saying.”

“I know that tone.”

“There’s no tone! I’m toneless. I’ve never modulated a syllable in my life.”

Shane tips his head against the back of his chair. “How come everybody in this godforsaken limited liability corporation is so determined to get me laid?” he asks. “Like, what’s going on here. What’s in the juice you’re all drinking, and who is your supplier.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re a big sad lonely sasquatch?” Sara suggests. “We’re tired of watching you lope around like you’re the last of your species.”

He glares at her. “I’m a _human being_ ,” he mutters. “I’m just _tall_.”

Sara sighs. She leans in and knocks his nose with the eraser-end of her pencil. “Okay, listen. Ever since Ruining History didn’t get green-lit for a second season, you’ve just seemed ... I don’t know. Kind of down. I know you put a lot into that show and I know it meant a lot to you and I just think that maybe you need, like, something new to put your energy into. Something that excites you. I know you hate doing these one-off videos.”

Shane blinks at her. “You think I should replace Ruining History with sex?” he repeats.

She rolls her eyes, knocking him harder with the pencil, enough to make him flinch backward. “No, you idiot. I think you’re bored with your job and since your job is your whole life I think you need to expand your life.”

“My job isn’t my _whole_ life,” lies Shane. “I have -- other friends.”

Sara cocks an eyebrow at him. “Name one,” she says flatly. “And they can’t live in the midwest.”

“............My friend Ryan owns a crystal shop,” Shane says weakly, and Sara laughs. She shakes her purple hair at him and nudges him fondly with her foot. Shane gives it a squeeze to let her know that he’s taken her advice seriously and will think about it, and by her smile he knows she’s gotten the message.

“Want to look at pictures of Obi until someone yells at us to do our jobs?” she asks, an olive branch because she knows that Shane can’t resist pictures of the Orange Boy, and Shane almost snatches the phone out of her hand in his excitement.

-

Shane’s _not_ bored. He’s -- well, he just hasn’t found _his thing_ yet. He had Test Friends for a while, and then there was _Ruining History_ , and then _Debatable_ , and he’s liked all those things a lot but none of them ever really hit the groove they’d need to in order for Buzzfeed to keep them around. The internet moves fast, and if you aren’t trending, you essentially don’t exist, and Shane just hasn’t found the right alchemy on any of his projects to make it stick.

But he’s good at his job; his videos are good, his guest appearances are good, and Buzzfeed is an eminently weird place so it’s not like it’s _dull._ And even if it were dull, it would still be light years better than the corporate training videos he’d been making before this, so he’s not going to complain.

This does not explain why he finds himself in front of The Treasure Chest on Saturday, staring at it. He’s going to go in. He drove all the way here with the express purpose of going in. But now that he’s here he feels weirdly awkward about just announcing to Ryan that he’s delighted by him and wants to be friends. Shane almost never feels awkward about these things; he likes people and prefers they like him back, but if they don’t that’s fine. He’s never been -- _nervous_ like this before. He doesn’t want Ryan to not want to be his friend.

“Are you ... casing the joint?” the man himself asks, poking his head out of the front door with a little brow furrow of consternation that Shane wants to smooth out with the pad of his thumb. “Waiting for your accomplices to come steal all my crystals?”

“I don’t want your crystals,” Shane tells him immediately. “They’re fake.”

“They’re definitely real crystals,” Ryan rejoins easily, which is not what Shane meant. He grins at whatever Shane’s expression must look like and opens the door wider. “So -- if you’re not here to rob me, what’s up?”

_I want to be your friend_ , Shane thinks, and prepares to say, which is why it’s surprising when instead he blurts: “I want you to be in a video series with me. About -- uh, I don’t know, spooky stuff.”

Ryan blinks. “ ... Spooky stuff?” he repeats dubiously. “What kind of spooky stuff?”

Shane flaps a hand vaguely towards the shop behind them. “You know, like, bullshit. Like crystals and tarot and palm reading and all that fake stuff people get into because they can’t afford therapy in this monstrous healthcare system.”

As he says it, the idea crystallizes in his mind, suddenly becoming clear and obvious: the skeptic vs the believer, trying out all the things that people on the internet are into. He’s going to find someone who claims to be a witch. They’re going to make potions. Maybe they’ll try to get haunted. It’s going to be hilarious.

“First of all,” Ryan tells him, “crystals aren’t fake. I cede the point about the high cost of therapy, but crystals being cheaper doesn’t inherently make them less valuable, that’s a very capitalist thought of you to have.”

“You own a small business,” Shane points out. “You _are_ capitalism.”

“You work for _Buzzfeed_ ,” notes Ryan, which is a fair point that Shane concedes with the incline of his head. “Secondly -- is this show just going to be you making fun of how stupid you think this all is and I am for believing in it, because ... no offense or anything but that sounds like it would suck for me and be like, really bad for business.”

Shane shakes his head. “No,” he promises. “I -- listen, the thing is, I want to believe.”

Ryan blinks at him.

Shane lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I know how it sounds,” he admits, not exactly sure why he’s confessing this to Crystal Shop Owner Ryan Bergara of all people, but he guesses he has nothing to lose, anyway, except his pride. “But I ... get kind of stuck in my head sometimes, I guess? And -- the video came out good. With you and me. We have good chemistry, and you’re clearly very smart even if you -- well, I mean, even if you believe some fairly inexplicable things. But I want to learn about this stuff because it’s interesting, and probably I’ll never be like, a card-carrying crystal practitioner but ... I like ... uh. The video was fun. I thought.”

For a moment, Ryan doesn’t say anything, just studies him with his head cocked to the side. Then he says, very slowly, “You don’t think I’m stupid?”

It’s Shane’s turn to blink. He says, “What? No.”

“I think crystals work,” Ryan tells him. “Not just as a placebo. Not just because of the CBT. I think they work because of the universe’s energy. Because of the _vibrations._ ”

Shane’s mouth twists of its own accord, and he admits, “I think that _idea_ is stupid. But ... I don’t think ... that _you_ are stupid. For believing it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you think I’m stupid if you think the idea is stupid?”

“Lots of very smart people believe stupid things,” Shane says on a shrug. “Ben Franklin was probably in a sex cult. Nobody’s perfect.”

Ryan blinks at him. Shane holds his breath. He’s quiet for a long minute and then he says, “... Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be in your video series. But I have a stipulation.” Shane holds his hands out, like he’s offering Ryan something, a grin already beginning to form. “I want to pick the topics, and I want to do the research on them. I don’t trust you to give any of it a fair shake.”

The stipulation surprises Shane, who had assumed that Ryan would want to swan in on the day of filming and then swan back out as soon as it was done, but he sticks a hand out as soon as he recovers. “Deal,” he says. “Deal, absolutely.”

Ryan comes close enough to meet him in the parking lot and takes his hand. He has a firm grip. Shane tries not to think too much about it. “I’ll call you in a few days,” he says. “I already have some ideas.”


	2. special knowledge holds true

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG apologies to literally all of china for probably being so flippantly and carelessly wrong about qi! please remember that i'm an idiot and they're working for buzzfeed so like. what do you expect.
> 
> also sorry to all of you for taking so long to update and then not even including any sex. i never said i was a role model.

The thing is, Ryan has never been good at half-assing things, which is why he is commissioner of two fantasy football leagues, built a whole ass business out of an aesthetic appreciation for a crystal his mom got for free at the mall when he was seven, and is a certified massage therapist.

Ryan hadn’t meant to become a viral internet sensation; he’d just wanted to get to know the extraordinary weirdo that had barged into his store and accused him of being a conman. But he can’t do anything without trying really hard at it, which means that instead of putting together a couple of almost-funny Bert and Ernie videos, he and Shane have made — like, an empire, kind of.

Ryan has never one time expected to ever be the type of person who inspired _fans_ , but _Buzzfeed Alternatives_ is ... huge.

A lot of it is down to Shane, of course, who goes in during post production and adds all these graphics and side comments and sound effects. Ryan watches every episode because he never knows what’s going to be in them, what Shane will keep or cut, what funny joke he’ll add as snarky text floating between their heads. Sometimes it’s stuff that’s so niche Ryan thinks — well, it _must_ be directed at him, alone. No one else would get it, the inside jokes, the way he sometimes winks at the camera in time with the added commentary like he already knew he was going to write it and is winking at Ryan-in-the-future.

The rest of it ... well.

 _so when y’all gonna kiss???_ writes youtube user shyan_enforcer.

Ryan doesn’t reply with, “when you find out give me a heads up,” but only because it’s against Buzzfeed policy to interact with commenters and as a contractor he’s bound to the same rules.

“Don’t read the comments,” says Kelsey, pushing his laptop closed on his fingers. “Come on, man. We’ve been over this.”

Ryan tugs his fingers loose ruefully, groaning. “They are saying how obvious it is that I — what if — ”

“ _Don’t read the comments_ ,” she repeats, and then flings herself onto the seat behind the counter, pinning her name badge to a pair of Mickey Mouse ears instead of her shirt.

Kelsey is another product of _Alternatives_ : in the last six months, things at The Treasure Chest have gotten so busy that Ryan had had to bring on his first employee. Kelsey, a professional gamer he’d met at a Disney Passhole meetup, had seemed like the right choice at the time: she’s bubbly, fun, neutral to positive on the effectiveness of crystal therapy, and only needed part-time work to supplement her gaming.

“You know, _some_ people on the internet think _we_ should date,” she tells him blithely, and Ryan freezes in terror. “There aren’t _as_ many posts about it, I just want you to know that as far as the internets are concerned, you have options.”

Ryan manfully does not squeak when he says, “You said not to read the comments!”

“These aren’t comments, they’re _fanfictions,_ ” Kelsey giggles, a sequence of eight almost-music notes that she ruins with a soft _hyuck_ at the end. “And I said _you_ shouldn’t read the comments. Ryan, your psyche can’t handle the parts of the internet I’ve survived.”

He’s tempted to argue for the sake of his pride, but Kelsey plays online games, on purpose, professionally, so there’s not much he can say. Instead, he gently raps on her mouse ears, just enough to dislodge them. She pop her gum in his face, wrinkling her nose.

She looks down at whatever console it is she’s holding — is that a _Gameboy???? —_ and says, voice sweet because even when she’s being snarky Kelsey is still a bubble of light, “You could tell him.”

“No I couldn’t,” Ryan returns instantly, almost before she’s finished speaking. “It’s — even if — he’d get _fired_. We’d have to stop _Alternatives_ , at best. It’s in the contract.”

Kelsey rolls her eyes. “Dude, he works at _Buzzfeed._ I’m pretty sure there’s a whole series about that guy Ned just like, being in love with his wife.”

“You know that’s the Try Guys. Don’t pretend you don’t have a crush on Eugene.”

“ _Everybody_ has a crush on Eugene. He’s _Eu_ gene. Anyway, that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“The point is you’re great at being internet famous, you should tell Shane you’re in love with him, and you should give me a guest spot on your extremely and surprisingly viral web show.”

Ryan sniffs, irritated despite himself. “It’s not surprising. It is extraordinarily well-executed by its talented showrunners, Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara.”

Kelsey lolls her head at him, giving her eyebrows a wiggle. “Aw, you had a baby together,” she coos, and Ryan throws a cluster of amethyst at her head.

-

“I wanna talk about rabbits feet,” Ryan says, grinning as widely as Shane has ever seen him. They’re at Ryan’s apartment, because Shane has roommates and doesn’t need anyone else noticing his embarrassing crush on his coworker.

Shane blinks. “No you don’t,” he decides. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Fuck you, dude,” Ryan answers cheerfully. “Rabbits feet are totems and totems are scientifically — ”

“Once again I must protest your use of the word ‘scientific’ in reference to fairytales and hookum—”

“Do you think I don’t know that’s from The Mummy? Do you even remember how that movie turned out, vis-a-vis fairytales and hookum?”

“Fictionally? It turned out _fictionally_.”

“You can’t just divorce a quote from its context, you have to respect the source—”

“And what are the sources on your super scientific _totem_ research?”

Ryan turns up his nose. “History,” he sniffs. “And ... the internet.”

“Well, if the _internet_ says it.”

Shane can feel himself grinning, knows Ryan’s expression of enraged delight matches his own. This is what he likes best about _Alternatives,_ he thinks. Not the filming, not the views, not the pay raise and the talk of getting their own channel. He likes sitting in Ryan’s terrible apartment, which is decorated like a smoke shop run by somebody’s Northeastern aunt who moved to Arizona and exclusively wears jeans bought from thrift stores, bickering over burritos that Shane bought at the truck a few blocks away. He likes the way Ryan’s stupid fucking salt lamp makes his skin glow. He likes sitting on beanbags because it means their knees can knock against each other when one of them gets too animated.

Ryan has a fucking meditation mat, and he _uses_ it. Shane has woken up here to find Ryan sitting in lotus or whatever, totally zoned out.

“It helps with my anxiety,” he’d said with a shrug when he’d noticed Shane staring at him. “Also, besides its many mental benefits, yoga fucking shreds your abs, dude. I’m gonna look like Bradley Cooper without ever drinking _one_ protein shake.”

Ryan is like a kooky aunt trapped in a frat boy’s body and it has decimated every last one of Shane’s defenses. He kept the garnet, for god’s sake. It’s still on his desk. People can _see it._

“Whatever,” Ryan tells him dismissively. “The deal was I pick the topics, so I’m picking the topic and the topic is rabbits feet.”

Shane sighs, flopping backward into his beanbag to stare despondently at the ceiling. “It’s called Buzzfeed Alternatives, not Buzzfeed Bullshit,” he points out. “What are rabbits feet supposed to be an alternative to?”

“Bad luck,” Ryan tells him, serene. Shane kicks out at him half-heartedly, and Ryan catches his foot, giving it a light squeeze before tossing it away. “We could — I did have another idea,” he offers, sounding almost nervous. “It’s kind of ... I don’t know what our budget is? But.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“But there are these hot springs, up in Fairbanks, that are supposed to be just ... _amazing_ for your qi. And -- dude, if we go at the right time, we might see the Northern Lights.” Ryan grins at him. “Plus, I know you miss the snow, Mr. Midwest.”

Shane opens his mouth to argue -- his _qi_? for God’s sake -- before the rest of Ryan’s idea kicks in. “Fairbanks ... _Alaska_?” he asks.

Ryan winces. “Yeah. Sorry -- it’s probably too expensive, right? Sorry. I didn’t, I mean, I knew it was probably a long shot but I just had this crazy idea the other day that we could go and like, spend the night and film it on location? I don’t know. I thought it would be cool. But obviously -- ”

“No, shut up, it’s a great idea,” Shane interrupts. “I’ll have to clear it with some people but -- it would be a cool way to shake things up. Sometimes I think we’re a little boring, visually, just sitting there like, holding onto things.”

“ _You’re_ boring visually,” Ryan retorts automatically, brow furrowing. “And anyway, you do a great job with, like, the, like, animation things, and the little side commentary bubbles. I always watch the episodes back. They’re funny. There’s all this extra stuff.”

Despite his best efforts, Shane can feel the tips of his ears getting red. “It’s -- not that big of a deal,” he laughs, waving a hand. “I just do it to minimize the amount of time the audience has to spend looking at your face.”

Ryan wrinkles his nose in Shane’s direction, but doesn’t take the bait. “It’s funny,” he insists again, jaw set stubbornly. “It’s most people’s favorite part.”

Shane is fairly certain that’s not true, but Ryan’s kindness makes something warm tighten its fist in his belly. It takes the full power of his Midwestern upbringing not to squirm in his seat. Still, he knows that particular glint in Ryan’s eye, and he knows he’ll sit on his beanbag chair until Shane takes the compliment, so he scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“Okay, geez,” he mutters. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Ryan answers, shifting his shoulders like a bird resettling its feathers. “Anyway -- I think it would be fun. The trip. So ... let me know what they say, and if they say no, we’re doing rabbit’s feet.”

“If they say no, I’ll pay for it myself purely to avoid talking about _good luck charms_ ,” Shane promises, and dodges the pillow Ryan throws at him.

-

Obviously they say yes. Shane’s pretty sure they’d okay anything he asked for, as long as Ryan was a beneficiary; he’s not sure Ryan’s ever met anybody who wouldn’t immediately offer him a kidney. Anyway, it’s a good business decision -- _Alternatives_ is good, but they’ve done enough episodes now that it’s going to get stale if they don’t shake it up.

Shane doesn’t panic when he emails Ryan their flight info, nor when he’s packing for the weekend, nor when he meets TJ and Devin at the airport and Ryan texts him that he’s already there, waiting at the gate. He doesn’t panic as they go through security or take their seats or get their stuff from baggage claim, and doesn’t even panic the whole drive to the hotel. He looks out the window and up at the stars, which he hasn’t seen in a while because of LA’s light pollution.

In fact, Shane is doing a great job of not panicking all the way until they get to the hotel and Ryan says, “Oh.”

Shane backs in from the hallway, dragging one of the equipment bags. “What, ‘oh’?” he asks, turning around.

“... Oh,” he says.

Ryan rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sure we can get a cot in here,” he offers, gesturing at the single bed.

Shane shrugs, very carefully. “Sure, if you want,” he says. “I’m very long. It can’t be difficult to—share. With me. A bed.”

Ryan blinks at him. Shane wishes very deeply that he’d been smoother about that, but he’s so focused on not being a gross creep to his dumb hot coworker and you can really only be one of those things at a time.

“I’m also really hot,” Ryan points out distractedly, and then meets Shane’s eyes with a panicked look. “I mean—physically. I mean— _bodily._ I mean—fuck, you know what I mean.”

“No, no,” says Shane, laughing now, half because it’s funny and half because he’s so relieved not to be the only one who’s an idiot: “You’re very hot, Ryan. Physically. _Bodily._ ”

Ryan gives him the finger, slinging his bag onto the bed. “You know what? Fine. Just for that, I’m not taking the cot. You’re taking it or you’re snuggling with me all night, asshole.”

“As long as you don’t try to make me do any weird communication with the universe shit before sleep,” Shane says, and shrugs, this time with a kind of deliberate ease that he’d cultivated in high school when he grew eight feet taller than everyone else. He drops his backpack on the floor and goes into the bathroom, pointing at himself in the mirror and silently giving himself a talking-to. He will be professional on this trip. He and Ryan are friends and coworkers and he will NOT give anyone cause to report an HR violation, no matter how hot Ryan looks or how closely he sleeps.

There’s a knock on the door and when Shane comes out of the bathroom TJ is leaning against the wall, laughing. “And they were roommates,” he manages.

From behind him, peering over his shoulder, Devon says, “Oh my god, they were _roommates._ ”

Shane throws a shoe at them, but Ryan looks back and forth between them with a furrowed brow. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“Nothing,” says Shane, sternly.

“Nothing,” agrees TJ, wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s just an internet thing. We work at Buzzfeed.”

“If we want to get to the springs before it gets dark we should head out,” Devon adds. “It’ll take a minute to set up the cameras.”

Ryan nods and reaches into his bag, pulling out a swimsuit. “Hot springs here we come,” he says, beaming.

-

Ryan has never really gotten too involved in the production aspect of _Alternatives,_ for many reasons. First, he really believes in letting the experts do their jobs without amateur interference; and second, it feels important to split the work 50/50. Shane lets him pick the topics and do all the research, so he lets Shane worry about angles and lighting and editing. He likes feeling like it’s a partnership. Like they—like they’re a team.

 _cute!!!!!!! cute cute cute cute cute_ , Kelsey texts him when he snaps her a photo of Shane, dressed in a long coat but no shoes, helping Devon set up the light reflector. They’re trying to get most of the shots in the sunset today, so that Ryan can talk about qi and the naturopathic benefits of hot springs, and then they’ll use the hands-free chest straps to get shots of the Northern Lights before hiking back home.

His phone buzzes again.

“Who ya chattin with?” Shane asks, slumping down next to him with a grin. “Oh, the Kelsmeister. Nice. Tell her hey.”

 _shane says hey_ Ryan writes, and then shoves his phone into his bag. “Are we ready to go?” he asks.

Shane nods, stripping out of his coat and slipping into the hot spring, making a big O with his mouth as he does. “Oof! Yikes. Hot. I was not ready for how hot this is.”

Ryan laughs and follows him into the water with, if he does say so himself, significantly more grace. TJ and Devon wait behind the camera.

“So here we are,” says Shane. “The water is hot. The sunset is pretty. I feel relaxed, which definitely does have health benefits.”

Ryan nods. “Relaxation is enormously beneficial to the body for a host of reasons,” he agrees. “It can reduce aches and pains, all but eliminate most types of headaches, deepen sleep, and even improve cognitive function.”

Shane is giving him a narrow-eyed look. “...Yes,” he agrees slowly. “All of that is true.”

“Also,” says Ryan.

“Aw, c’mon,” says Shane. “We were doing so good.”

“ _Also_ , the natural environment of the healing water of the hot spring allows us to receive the qi of all five elements: earth, water, metal, air, and fire. As a result, we are able to more readily achieve a mind-body harmony, allowing the qi to flow more smoothly through all the meridians.”

Shane is giving him a look of pure horror. “No,” he says. “I don’t—” He looks directly at the camera. “No. Absolutely not, Ryan.”

“The relaxation removes barriers to energy’s natural flow,” Ryan continues, calmly. “And once those barriers are removed, our internal organs—”

“You’re fired,” interrupts Shane, a little wild around the eyes. Despite himself, Ryan laughs.

“You don’t feel your qi flowing?” he asks. “Okay. Let’s try something. Close your eyes.” Shane gives him a suspicious look. “You told me you wanted to believe,” Ryan points out. “You won’t meditate or do yoga with me, so we’re going to try something else.”

Shane sighs, shoulders slumping, but he closes his eyes. This is Ryan’s favorite thing about Shane, that he’s so sure of himself but he’s always willing to be proven wrong. That he lets Ryan try.

Ryan slides closer to Shane and puts his hand on his chest. It’s — wet, obviously. Ryan realizes immediately that he’s made a mistake when Shane tenses and Ryan’s own heartbeat picks up. It occurs to him that they are almost naked, and that the sunset behind them is one of the most extraordinary Ryan has ever seen, and they are breathing in the same steam, exhales mingling. It occurs to him that he hadn’t quite thought this through, too determined to prove Shane wrong to think about what it might feel like to be this close.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, pressing his hand flat. He counts along with Shane’s heartbeat: “In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Good. Keep going. Feel the steam on your skin. Feel the water lapping up against, uh...” he swallows and hopes the camera doesn’t catch it. “Feel the water. Feel my hand.”

He shifts his thumb and Shane’s breath hitches.

 _Oh I fucked up!!!!!_ Ryan thinks, and _stay cool soda pop the fucking cameras are on._

“Feel the flow of your breath in and out. Let it mimic the flow of the water. Let that energy move through you, in through your mouth, out through your toes. Feel it flow from my hand into your chest, from your chest into my hand. Do you — ”

He cuts off before his voice can crack.

“I feel — uh. More relaxed,” Shane admits, swallowing. “I don’t know that my internal organs feel like they’re working better.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Well you wouldn’t _feel_ your organs working better, but do you feel more _balanced_?”

Shane opens his eyes. Their faces are very close. There’s a little condensation on Shane’s upper lip and Ryan wants to do something stupid, like lick it off. This is a very bad idea, Ryan knows, but he might do it anyway.

Shane is studying him; his arm shifts like he’s about to reach up and take Ryan’s hand, still pressed to his chest. His heartbeat is steady, which is unfair because Ryan’s is through the fucking _roof._

“I would not describe this feeling as _balanced_ , no,” says Shane, and then grins.

The tension breaks and Ryan laughs. He removed his hand. When he looks over at the camera, Devon and TJ are carefully looking elsewhere.

“That’s gonna be real weird to edit,” Devon says. “But, uh, good ... work. The gifs are gonna be everywhere.”

“Great,” says Shane, wry. “Can’t wait for my mom to see gifs of me half-naked in a hot spring all over her Facebook.”

Ryan gives a shaky laugh and flexes his hand as if that will get rid of the buzzing that’s climbing up his arm.

“Well, Dev and I should get back down before it gets dark and we have to attempt the hike with all this gear. You boys okay to strap up without us?”

Shane waves them away. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks, Teej. We’ll see you in the morning.”

They sit in silence while TJ and Devon pack up, Shane occasionally flicking water at him and Ryan trying very hard to reach a place of Zen so that they can bicker on camera without his voice shaking or his body betraying him by jumping Shane without permission.

Once they’re alone, the sky darkening, Shane leans back and tilts his head up. “I miss the outside,” he murmurs. “There isn’t any, in LA.”

Ryan frowns. “There isn’t ... outside?”

“You know what I mean. There’s the beach but there are _people_ everywhere.”

“There’s people here,” Ryan points out. “Me. I’m a people, dude. Don’t deny my personhood.”

The look Shane gives him is very dry. “You’re not people, you’re _Ryan_ ,” he says. “I just mean it feels ... good. To be here.”

 _With you,_ Ryan hears him not say.

He’s quiet for a moment, tempted to ask—tempted just to finally _ask,_ and get it all out in the open, and figure out where to go from there. But then he looks at Shane, shoulders loose and eyes closed, hears him again say _you’re not people, you’re **Ryan**. _Ryan likes everybody, mostly, and _certainly_ wants to be liked by everybody, but being liked by Shane isn’t ... it’s not the same. Shane doesn’t like or not like people, he just _has_ people, and Ryan is -- had.

Ryan doesn’t often feel like he’s really _part_ of things. He was slightly too hippie-dippy to feel like he fit in his frat and he was slightly too fratty to feel like he fit with his hippie friends. But _Alternatives_ is his, _theirs_ , and he doesn’t want to ruin it. He’d though Shane would be a delightful weirdo he could torment for fun and maybe bone, if it went his way; but instead Shane is ...

“Shane, I think it’s possible that you’re my best friend,” he blurts out.

Shane blinks at him. A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re admitting that?” he asks, pointing at the camera on his chest, which is pointed directly at Ryan. “On record?”

Ryan leans in to look directly at the camera. “This asshole’s my best friend,” he says. When his eyes flick up to Shane, Shane’s eyes are soft and his smile big. Ryan says again, “Every moment with Shane is great.”

“That’s sweet,” Shane says, joking but like he means it.

“I’m grateful every day that you came into my shop to buy garnet for your sexual dysfunction,” Ryan says, and laughs so hard he nearly dunks the camera in the spring when Shane splutters at him, outraged.

-

They get shots of the Lights, bickering back and forth about qi and and nature and balance, but honestly, Shane’s heart isn’t in it. All he wants to do is sit quietly in the water and hold Ryan’s hand while looking at the aurora borealis like some kind of dumb sap.

He already knows this episode is going to be boring, because he’s going to have to edit out so much. It’s not like anything untoward happened onscreen, but Shane feels jealous of it anyway, protective. It’s his, his and Ryan’s, not ... whatever. It doesn’t fit the vibe of _Alternatives_ anyway; the show is about goofs and bickering, not Ryan’s hand soft on his bare chest.

By the time they get back to the hotel, a weird silence has fallen between them that he doesn’t know how or if to combat. It doesn’t feel tense; just quiet. They take turns showering and then share room service on the bed, watching _Ghost Adventures._ Ryan’s knee is pressed against Shane’s. He laughs at the wrong times, and thinks all the houses are haunted.

He said Shane was his best friend.

Shane thinks he probably meant it.

“You’re mine too,” he says abruptly once the lights go out, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Ryan rolls over in his side, blinking at Shane in the dark. “I mean—you’re my best friend, too. And, uh, I’m glad. That you were you and not a sex shop.”

“Couldn’t have said that on camera, big guy?” Ryan jokes, but his voice is warm. He squeezes Shane’s hand back.

“I’m plenty nice to you on camera,” Shane returns, rolling his eyes. “I disagree _with respect_.”

“Two episodes ago you told me that I was ‘spewing volcanic bullshit.’”

“... Is that disrespectful? Volcanoes are cool.”

Ryan’s laugh is warm and delighted. “Go to bed, idiot,” he commands. “Snuggle up if you get cold.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Shane answers, and sinks into sleep, easy as anything.

-

Ryan wakes in the morning with his arm around Shane’s middle, his knees tucked in behind Shane’s. He doesn’t have a boner but he knows his dick is considering it.

 _Oh I fucked up_ , he thinks again, but fondly this time.

Something feels different, shifted and seismic. The energy between them feels softer than it had before, still combative but with a cushion to it.

“Shane,” he says. “Wake up.”

Shane shifts and turns over. They blink at each other for a few moments and then Shane reaches up to press his hand over Ryan’s and says, very seriously, “Do you feel my _energy,_ Ryan, flowing from my hand into your hand?”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Ryan announces, delighted, and before he can think better of it, leans down to kiss him.

-

 _hoo boy_ , thinks Shane. _this is going to be a big problem for me, personally and professionally._

He kisses back.


	3. it bears believing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for suspending your disbelief that buzzfeed would give one single hoot about fraternization. i didn't proofread and i WON'T PROOFREAD because i just want this offfff my harddrive. 
> 
> these nerds love each other. bye

Ryan is a warm weight above him, one arm slung low across Shane’s belly and one hand cupping his cheek. He feels stronger than he looks; Shane is a big guy, but the heft of Ryan’s arm feels firm and immovable, strong on purpose rather than by an accident of mass.

 _This is such a bad bad bad bad bad bad idea_ , Shane’s brain thinks; _shut the FUCK up_ , he thinks back at it, pushing up into Ryan’s mouth and dragging him closer at the same time.

“Man, I really got shortchanged in my previous best friendships,” he murmurs as Ryan tugs slowly up and away, grinning down at him. “I didn’t realize makeouts were supposed to be on the table.”

Ryan’s laugh is a wheeze, and his thumb traces briefly under Shane’s eye, along his cheekbone. “You ain’t never had a friend like me,” he says.

Shane squints. “Is that -- did you just quote _Aladdin_ at me? Sexually?”

“Prince Shane-ee, fabulous he, Shane-ee Shane-bob-waaaaah,” chuckles Ryan. “Do you want to rub my lamp?”

“I dunno, is it covered in Himalayan salt?”

“Shane, I swear to God, you are talking yourself _right_ out of a blowjob.”

The delight in Ryan’s tone belies his words, as does the way his thumb is tracing back and forth against Shane’s hip, the way his other hand is still pressed to Shane’s cheek. Shane doesn’t think he _is_ talking himself out of a blowjob, actually. Shane is about 80% sure this is half the reason Ryan even wants to give him a blowjob in the first place.

Still: Shane hasn’t done anything up until now for _reasons_ , good ones, well-thought out and weighed on an extensive scale of pros and cons, and Ryan is apparently his best friend. He wants desperately to kiss Ryan again, and maybe forever and ever without end, but he also feels a fierce surge of desire to cup his hands around Ryan’s heart to keep the world from bruising it, even Shane himself.

So instead of leaning up to capture Ryan’s mouth gently in his teeth, he forces himself to ask: “Should we talk about this? It’s -- I know that there are ... factors. That maybe make it worth talking about.”

Ryan blinks thoughtfully down at him. “We should probably talk about it,” he agrees, and then bites his lip before adding, “I just -- you’re so fucking -- _soft and sleepy_ right now, I can’t -- I literally can’t _focus_ , dude.”

Shane feels his eyes wrinkling without any conscious input, his mouth widening into a kind of giddy grin that he’s usually not victim to. Ryan makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and leans down again, pressing his lips against Shane’s as if he wants to steal the smile right off him. Shane lets him, sinking back into the pillows and drawing Ryan with him, shifting them until a full half of Ryan’s weight is on him, their legs tangled. He feels keenly the loss of Ryan’s hand on his hip as he moves to reposition it next to Shane’s ear, but it nets him more Ryan and a hand curling into his hair, so he calls it a win.

Ryan drags his mouth away, visibly reluctant. “Do _you_ want to talk about it?” he asks, voice cracking.

“I don’t even want to _think_ about it,” Shane answers honestly. “The only thing I want to do is give you a hickey the size of fucking California, right on your _criminal_ collarbones. I want to bite your biceps, is that weird? They’re just so -- it’s like -- Jesus. I don’t think I have the cognitive faculties to explain why I just want to get my fucking _mouth_ \-- ”

Ryan cuts him off by kissing him again, more urgently this time. “That’s weird,” he confirms against Shane’s lips, breath coming faster, shifting in a way that has Shane’s dick _extremely_ interested. “That’s so fucking weird, dude, but it’s working for me. Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Is there a crystal for that?” Shane snarks before he can stop himself, and Ryan surges up in outrage, swinging one leg the rest of the way over Shane’s and hefting himself up so that he’s straddling Shane’s lap.

“You’re such an asshole,” he accuses. “Like, oh my God.”

Shane beams up at him, delighted. He loves Ryan like this, outraged and pleased at the same time; he loves the stupid little furrow in his brow, the way his shoulders hitch up. He loves the way Ryan’s mouth twitches up and then down, like he wants to be frowning and grinning at the same time.

He reaches out and runs a hand along the seam of Ryan’s pajama pants, tucking his fingers in, but only up to the first knuckle. Goosebumps spread out across Ryan’s arm in a fascinating wave, his abs fluttering a little at the softness of the touch.

“If we’re gonna talk about this first we’ve gotta do it like, _now_ ,” Shane says flatly, entranced by the way Ryan’s stomach shies away at his touch and then rushes back to meet him. “Before my brain cuts out entirely.”

“Hunnnngh,” answers Ryan, and then grinds down so sweetly onto Shane that he snaps the band of Ryan’s pants by accident. “ _Ow_ , Shane, what the fuck.”

“Sorry,” Shane says, but isn’t very. His hands float up to Ryan’s hips and drag him down again, chasing friction, and pressure, and the little wiggle of Ryan’s brow that make Shane want to go full _Where The Wild Things Are_ on him.

Ryan leans down, dropping his weight to his elbows on either side of Shane’s head, and before he can do anything cute Shane slams their mouths together, hands sliding up and around his middle and yanking him downward. He’s not proud of the way just that feels like almost enough, but it is, so he pulls back and chants, “Naked, naked, naked, we gotta — ”

“Okay but you’ve just made it _substantially_ harder — oh, heh.”

Shane shoves at him a little, gently, until he has enough space to wedge his hands into his sweatpants and start shifting them off; Ryan, to Shane’s dismay, swings his legs off and takes himself farther away. Logically Shane knows this is so he can also shed his sleep pants, but his dumb body makes a distraught sound anyway.

Ryan gives him a look, dry and fond at once. “I’m coming right back, you big baby,” he says, and then goes slack jawed as Shane kicks his pants off. “Oh—can I—Shane? Do you mind if—”

“Do I _mind_ if—what kind of insane question—”

“Shut up shut up shut _up_ ,” Ryan hisses, and then gets his mouth on Shane’s dick and both of them go very still and very quiet. Shane is maybe holding his breath. Ryan gives the head a light suck, flicks his eyes up to Shane with the stupidest, hottest, _frattiest fucking quirked eyebrow,_ and swallows it all down at once, until Shane is bumping up against the back of Ryan’s throat and yelling, “WELL I MEAN _JESUS_ IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE LIKE _THAT_ ABOUT IT,” not having the slightest idea what he even means.

Ryan blows him like Shane imagined he did shots in college: determinedly, brazenly, and with a kind of razor focus that feels like it could only have been forged through two weeks of fraternal hazing. Shane mostly holds tight to his hair and says meaningless things like, “ _God_ that is—you’re— _Ry_ an whatthefuck,” and, at one point, “Well! Well well well, ah _aaaa,_ ” as if he were a cartoon villain.

When he comes, he does so with a surprised, soft sigh, and then watches in a daze as Ryan rolls off the bed to go spit in the bathroom sink. He blinks up at the ceiling and waits for Ryan to come back, meaning to offer him his mouth, his hand, his bank account, the whole world, but Ryan just climbs back onto him and jerks off frantically into Shane’s chest, batting Shane’s hands away when he tries to help.

After he finishes he rubs bits of jizz into Shane’s skin, eyes oddly focused. “And _I’m_ the weirdo for wanting to bite you a little,” Shane notes, but mildly.

“Don’t make me tell you that it’s good for your skin,” Ryan warns, grinning. “Don’t make me say it has a _rejuvenating life energy_.”

“I can’t believe the real sex shop was the friendships we made along the way,” Shane marvels, and Ryan laughs so hard he wheezes.

-

It’s surprisingly easy, after.

Ryan makes Shane lounge with him for another few minutes and then lets himself be dragged into the too-small shower; Shane’s enormous Sasquatch body makes it ill-fitting for _one_ person, much less two, but it feels so nice to be this close that he doesn’t care.

An idea flutters through Ryan’s head of romantically washing Shane’s hair, but the idea of having to stand on the edge of the tub to make it work kills the vibe immediately, so he settles on annoying Shane by muscling him out from under the water and then dragging him in close.

“See?” he says. “Sharing is caring.”

“What kind of fucking once-removed hippie commune did you _skateboard out of_ ,” Shane marvels. He’s grinning, though, and petting at Ryan’s head kind of absently, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it and can’t make himself stop.

Ryan laughs, turning off the water and reaching for his towel; Shane gives himself a shake like a giant dog and follows suit, slinging the towel low around his waist. Ryan tries not to watch him walk around, packing half-heartedly.

The group chat gets a text from Devon saying they’re going down to breakfast; it takes the mention of food for Ryan to realize he’s starving, so they both abandon packing and go downstairs instead.

It’s easy at breakfast, when Shane gives TJ and Devon shit for missing the Lights and then for ten harrowing minutes no one can find the Buzzfeed credit card. It’s easy when they go finish packing and Shane backs him against the hotel room door and kisses him until both their lips are going numb. It’s easy in the car, in the airport, on the plane.

It’s easy until they land in LA, when TJ says, “See you at the office to wrap up filming!” and Ryan remembers, _oh my god we **work together**_.

Shane seems to notice his sudden panic, because he says dryly, “We forgot to talk about it.”

Ryan laughs, a little helplessly. “I still don’t want to,” he admits. But that’s not quite right. He corrects: “I don’t want to _have_ to.”

“Me either,” Shane admits. “You matter to me. _Alternatives_ matters to me. I want to have sex with you and I don’t want to stop making the show.”

Ryan nods. “Same. But it’s ... there’s pretty clear rules. In my contract.”

Shane’s sigh is quiet as he shoves his hand through his hair. The LAX airport car park feels big and echoing, suddenly; Ryan holds his breath. He is determined to be cool about this, determined not to let it ruin anything. Shane is his best friend, and he likes having sex with him, but if the choice is between having sex Shane but ruin his career or getting to be his friend _and_ do the show, it’s no contest.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees eventually, but Ryan waits him out since he looks like he’s still thinking. “I don’t ... Ryan, I don’t know, man. _Alternatives_ has been really good for The Treasure Chest, and for me, too. But—I want, uh. I mean. I want to date you. I don’t know if—or, that is, if what you want is to be my friend and also have sex, I think that we ... shouldn’t. Do the sex part.”

Ryan stares at him. “Because of your feelings?” he clarifies. “For me?”

Shane winces. “Yeah,” he admits, grudgingly. “Because of my feelings, for you.”

A swell of almost unbearable affection wells up in Ryan’s chest and he can’t stop himself from stepping in close to Shane and wrapping his arms around Shane’s middle. “ _Shane_ ,” he coos teasingly, grinning, grinning. “Do you want to _date me_?”

“People think I’m the asshole but _you’re_ the asshole,” Shane says. He gives Ryan’s ear a hard tug. “ _Yes,_ for God’s sake. I want to date you. I’ve wanted to date you since the first time I saw you, all hopped up on Nyquil and very startled to find myself in a shop full of rocks and dream catchers.”

Ryan likes him so much, he wants to box his ears and shove him in a locker. He admits, “I only took the job with Jen because she mentioned you. I said no first, but then she said she’d gotten my name from her colleague, Shane, who she ‘assumed behaved very badly given his generally derisive attitude toward alternative methods’ and I just ... I knew it was you, I knew it had to be, and I wanted—I wanted to see you again. So bad. I watched all your videos in like, one day.”

Shane wrinkles fondly down at him, his face squished and darling and dear, and Ryan thinks he _could_ give up on the idea of having him, he _could_ be friends and business partners, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to, at all.

He says, “I know it’s probably a really bad idea but what if—can we try it anyway? We can keep it just between us, until we know. If it works. And if it doesn’t we can, uh,” he stumbles, “break up. And still do the show.”

“You want to be my _secret boyfriend_?” Shane asks, eyebrows climbing all the way to his enviously lush hairline. “For real?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it exactly like that,” Ryan says delicately.

“Okay, how _would_ you phrase it?”

“I want to be your ... oh my god, your beau on the—” He starts laughing before he can finish. It takes him a few minutes to manage it: “Your beau down low.”

The expression of absolutely appalled glee that overtakes Shane’s face as he laughs is worth photographing, Ryan thinks; worth bottling up and carrying around for any day that Ryan might need it. Shane bends his head to nestle his face in Ryan’s hair, shoulders shaking. Ryan lets himself be hugged and laughed at until Shane finally pulls back, beaming. “Okay, Frat Emily Dickinson,” he declares. “Yeah. Let’s do it. Pass me secret notes in the hallways and write me letters like a lunatic.”

He kisses Ryan right there, in the carpark, in front of God and everybody except Buzzfeed Incorporated.

-

_dear shane, tonight, the wind blew on the mores_

_& it made me think of the way u sigh when u think i’m an idiot.  
love, ryan_

**_dear ryan_** —

 ** _thank you_** — ** _for your note_** —

 ** _which i loved_** — ** _but_** — ** _for_** — ** _how_** —

**_you spelled moors wrong.  
love, shane._ **

_dear shane, fuck u buddy!!!! love, ryan_

-

When Ryan comes in to wrap up the Fairbanks episode, they sit so far apart at the BFA table that TJ has trouble fitting them both in the shot.

“Guys, I know we had a weird hot springs moment, but this is gonna look real _no homo_ -y if you don’t get it together,” he scolds, giving Shane a particularly stern look, which Shane thinks is unfair because Ryan has been positively _jumpy_. When he’d first come in they’d just stared at each other until Shane offered him a hug and Ryan tried to _shake his hand,_ what the fuck.

“I’m not no homo!” Ryan protests, visibly appalled. “I own a _crystal shop_ , man, what the fuck.”

“You heard it here first, folks: crystals are gay,” Shane says drolly, but scoots his hair closer to the middle. Ryan shoots him a glare, echoing his movement. Now they’re _too_ close, feet almost overlapping. Shane blows out a long breath, shifting to put a modicum of space between their shoulders but not moving his chair. “All crystals are in a homosexual relationship with all other crystals.”

“Maybe clusters could be considered gay,” Ryan muses, “but they’d be poly then, anyway. Surely amethyst cannot be homo _anything_ with, say, obsidian.”

Shane laughs. “Ah yes, the two genders: amethyst and obsidian.”

“Crystal gender is a spectrum, actually,” Ryan sniffs. “Or maybe a circle? There isn’t really a beginning or an end. There’s just infinite ways to express the visible light spectrum, and all those expressions’ impurities and inclusions.”

Shane blinks at him. “That’s really beautiful, man. You’re wasted on _Alternatives._ I should give you to As/Is or something.”

TJ and Devon laugh, but Ryan shakes his head. “No, I’m very happy where I am.”

Shane can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, the automatic duck of his head. “Gotcha, idiot. You fell right into my trap.”

“Your _trap_? You came into my store, yelled at me for being a conman, told me my arms were too big, and then left.”

“And now you’re here, bound to me by law and affection,” Shane points out. “Sucker.”

Ryan shakes his head with a long laugh. “Can we talk about qi, please? Let’s dig into how hot springs and the aurora borealis helped us to balance our energy.”

“Or, how it didn’t do that but was very nice regardless,” Shane agrees, and they both turn to look at the camera.

-

 _hey ryan quick q,_ Kelsey texts on Thursday, the day the episode goes up. Ryan hasn’t watched it yet; Shane only just texted him the link with a note that says “i did my best to curb your raw sexual qi but please don’t read the comments,” which means that Ryan is definitely, 100% going to read the comments.

He texts back, with trepidation: _what’s up_

The answer comes immediately, in all caps. _WHAT IN THE NAME OF MICKEY MOUSE AM I W A T C H I N G????????_

_only u can answer that kelsey i’m not in ur house_

_is this LITERALLY your wedding video? did you go to alaska and FIND TRUE LOVE?_

He laughs, then winces, because it’s maybe closer to the truth than not, and also it could get Shane fired. Instead of answering, he pulls open his laptop and plugs his headphones in, careful in case anyone comes in, and clicks the link.

Shane has pulled together some really cool graphics in the beginning, for Ryan’s explanations of qi. This is the part of Shane that Ryan admires most: he thinks it’s bullshit, but he presents it as if he didn’t, with smart graphic design and videography. The intro could be a genuine introductory video for people interested in qi. Even his comments, while dry, don’t mock the content, necessarily.

 _Alternatives_ looks like a cross between the “Skeptics Try” video and _Ruining History_ , with his little black boxes of commentary overlaying Ryan’s voiceover. When Ryan says, “Qi is the vital, circulating life force inside every living thing, and it’s a central concept in Chinese philosophy and medicine,” a little box pops up that says: _inside of every life force is a smaller, more Chinese life force._

Another one says _ya boi loves a graph_ over an image of the five elements as a pie graph.

It’s pretty standard stuff, comments that are clearly for the audience (“suck it Gemgaras”) and some that Ryan thinks are probably just for him (“hot springs are hot, physically and bodily”).

When they get to the actual trip, Ryan has a sudden flush of horror that his employee has seen this video. Standing up, moving through space together, it is so _appallingly obvious_ that Ryan, at least, wants to touch Shane constantly. He’s always leaning into his space, jostling his shoulder, giving him gentle shoves. When they’re in the spring, Ryan’s hand presses flat to Shane’s bare chest, his eyes are soft and zeroed in on Shane’s, his expression —

“Jesus,” Ryan says, out loud.

“You’re telling _me_ ,” says Kelsey, coming in through the door. “I don’t want to be gross, boss, but the whole internet was leaping from this video directly into freezing showers.”

He jumps. “Jesus!” he says again, this time in surprise. “What the fuck! You aren’t scheduled for today!”

“Yeah, I’m not here as an employee, I’m here as a friend and fellow Passhole,” Kelsey says. “I want the gossip but, more importantly, I want to see if you’re like, okay? Because. I thought you were committing to suffering in silence and then you come out with a sex tape.”

“It’s not a _sex tape_ , oh my God.”

“You literally say, ‘Feel my hand,’ in the like, lowest, gravelliest voice I’ve ever heard. You’re in his _lap._ ”

“I’m not!”

“You might as _well be!”_

Ryan flops down into the seat behind the counter and buries his face in his hands. He wants to tell Kelsey, desperately; he gets as far as opening his mouth before realizing that Shane can’t. Shane’s friends are all his work friends. It was _Ryan_ who asked him to be his secret boyfriend; it’s not fair that he should get to tell people if Shane can’t.

So he just shakes his head. “It was a weird weekend,” he admits carefully. “But—it wasn’t—I mean, I am still suffering. He just might have a better idea of, uh, why? Or rather, that I am.”

Kelsey frowns. “So he knows but he doesn’t _know_ ,” she says. “And you told him he was just your best friend because, what, you wanted to throw him off the scent?”

Ryan is a bad boss and a bad friend and probably a bad person. Kelsey cares about him and wants to help, but he lies to her anyway and says, “Yeah. Stupid, right?”

Her face goes soft and sympathetic as she reaches out to squeeze his arm. “Aw, poor Ry. It wasn’t stupid. I mean—I think you could be honest with him, and he’d almost definitely just be like, ‘I’m quitting Buzzfeed to be your house husband.’ But I get where you’re coming from. You want to protect him.” She pauses. “You’re a good guy, to do that for Shane.”

Ryan is a terrible guy, actually, it turns out. The misery on his face when he says, “Thanks, Kels,” is real enough. “Can we talk about something else? What do the comments say?”

She gets comfortable, hoisting herself up onto the counter. “Well there are already eighty thousand gifs, at least,” she says. “Half are of y’all full boning in the hot spring—”

“We _weren’t—”_

“—and half are you saying he’s your best friend, and how every moment with him is great.”

“Cool,” says Ryan, who is more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his life. “Wonderful.”

“The comments are mostly like, ‘I can’t believe Shane and Ryan invented romance’ and ‘I also gaze lovingly into the eyes of my best friends under the northern lights’ and stuff.”

 _That’s fair,_ Ryan admits to himself, and sighs. “Well, all right. I guess it is what it is.”

Kelsey peers more closely at him. “He—I don’t know if this will help you to hear, but he looks back,” she tells him, smiling hesitantly. “The whole time, every time, it’s—it’s not just you, is all I’m saying.”

That’s true, and Ryan knows it, and he can’t help the way it lifts his mouth. He can’t help the way he glances at the frozen screen, both of them staring at one another, surrounded by steam. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I know.”

-

Jen is waiting for him when he comes in on Friday, and yanks him by his wrist into a conference room. He already knows what’s coming, so he resignedly takes a seat and looks his head to stare at the ceiling.

“Shane,” she says, voice firm. “Shane, did you _bone the talent.”_

“I thought I _was_ the talent,” Shane says, instead of answering.

She levels a finger at him. “Don’t play with me, Madej. I’ve got to figure out how on earth to lie about this to our legal counsel so you don’t get super fired!”

“We work at _Buzzfeed_ , half of us are dating each other, I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that we have a contract that says we had no conflicts of interest when we hired him, and you signed it!”

Shane knows this. Selfishly, he doesn’t really care; but he knows it’s not really about him, it’s about the show and everyone who works on it. It’s about like, media layoffs and everybody being terrified that one wrong move would mean the end.

He sighs, tugs at his hair, and says, “I know. Jen. I know. We aren’t—nothing happened. I know what it looks like but I promise all we did was have a weird meditation moment.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“So that I don’t have to lie for you later.”

“Jen, I am not that nice.”

“You’re _exactly_ that nice, asshole. The _really_ nice thing would have been to keep it in your pants until the season wrapped.”

Despite himself, Shane laughs. “Fair point,” he allows. But he’s good at hiding his feelings, _great_ at lying, and has a knack for rationalizing bad behavior as righteous, so instead of admitting anything he promises, “But I’m not lying. Something almost did, maybe, but Ryan ... he just wants to be friends. I mean, you heard him.”

It’s the only reason Shane kept the moment in the episode, honestly; he tried everything to diffuse the tension of the touch in the hot spring but no amount of snarky overlay could disguise the way they were looking at each other, and the only way he saw to change that was to keep in Ryan saying _you’re my best friend,_ like insurance against the soft way his hand had settled on Shane’s chest.

“Yeah, _oh-_ kay,” Jen snorts. “You’re talking to a _lesbian_ , Shane, you really think I’ve never said ‘you’re such a good friend’ when what I meant was ‘PLEASE make out with me’?”

“You told me _I_ was such a good friend!” Shane dissembles. “Dear God, have I been breaking your heart this whole time?”

Jen knocks her head against the conference table. “You’re a nightmare,” she tells him without looking up. “Go away.”

“Sure thing, chief,” says Shane, and runs out before she can change her mind.

-

_lunch???_

**burritos???**

_chipotle???_

**noon???**

_meet there???_

**out front???**

_[...]_

_fuck_

_u win_

**see you at lunch, beau down low.**

-

“It’s beau _on the_ down low,” Ryan says as soon as Shane is in earshot. “ _On_ _the_.”

“Sure, assistant to the regional manager, got it,” Shane answers agreeably. He glances around and then quickly ducks to press a kiss to Ryan’s mouth, grinning.

Ryan laughs against him and then kisses him again. “Dick,” he accuses cheerfully.

“And here I was, about to buy you a burrito!”

He takes Ryan’s hand with an air of surety that belies the nervous swoop of his stomach, glancing over to see Ryan looking surprised, then pleased, then soft for a moment before turning to drag Shane into Chipotle.

Ryan is a vegan—something about the psychic oneness of the universe that Shane has decided he is lying about to hide an embarrassing allergy—so he gets something with tofu in it. Shane’s open to tofu but he feels strongly that his personal burrito time is a beef time.

“ _Beef time_ ,” repeats Ryan, rolling his eyes. “But not wanting to eat something with a soul is beyond the pale.”

“Beef time is a globally recognized time zone, geographically located at all burrito-selling establishments.”

Ryan laughs, but he’s quiet, focused on his food in a way that suggests he’s anything but. Shane waits him out, eating peaceably until finally Ryan takes a long slurp of his soda and says, “I—about the video.”

“I had to use what we shot,” Shane says, wincing guiltily. “There just wasn’t anything else of substance. I cut it as much as I could, but they sent us on this whole trip and I just—we _had_ to include some of it.”

“I know,” soothes Ryan. “I know, man. I’m not mad, I’m just ... I feel really bad lying to people and it’s only been like, one conversation so far.”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. He’s good at lying but he didn’t particularly _like_ it. “I know. I’m sorry.” It’s Shane’s stupid fault that they have to lie in the first place, Shane’s work that they’re protecting, Shane’s friendships. “We can—”

Ryan quells him with a look. “It’s been like eight minutes, you’re not allowed to break up with me yet. I’m not saying I want to stop, I’m just ... saying.”

Shane reaches across the table to squeeze his hand and Ryan tangles their fingers together. “If the court will read the record back you will find the comment noted,” he jokes.

Ryan smiles at him, wide and honest, and Shane feels again the sudden urge to gather him up in a protective embrace despite the fact that Ryan would probably bench press Shane himself.

“Anyway, I was thinking about the next episode and I thought it might be cool to do acupuncture.”

Shane frowns. “Well ... I believe in acupuncture. I mean—that’s science.”

 _“_ Okay, I’m going to ignore the idea that all my other suggestions have no scientific basis—”

“They don’t, but go on—”

“—and just say, I actually think you being down with acupuncture is fine. It might be interesting to have one that we both agree on. Plus maybe we could like bring in an acupuncturist and have her talk us through it, maybe even get it done on camera if you don’t think it’ll be weird.”

Shane perks up. “No, I think it would be a great visual,” he says. “I’ll have to check to see if Buzzfeed has done anything on acupuncture before; it’s fine to repeat but maybe they have a hookup for a practitioner.”

“Awesome. And then it’s time we do an internet witch.”

The Rug of Good Sense is wrenched so suddenly from beneath Shane that he almost falls off his chair. “Come again?” he echoes.

Ryan’s mouth is twitching. “An internet witch,” he repeats, serene. “They’re all over tumblr. They write spells that are charged by user engagement.”

Shane takes his hand back, betrayed. Ryan looks delighted by his horror and takes an unhurried bite of burrito.

“So they are holding people hostage emotionally in order to win followers?” he repeats. “They’re the modern version of a chain email? You want to do an episode on the modern version of a chain email?”

“I refuse to talk to you about this off-camera,” Ryan tells him primly. “Everything you’re giving me is gold.”

“But _you_ don’t believe in tumblr witchcraft, right,” Shane says. He looks closely at Ryan’s face. “This is important. For our relationship.”

Ryan grins. “Are you gonna break up with me if I say I believe in tumblr witchcraft?” he asks. “What if I told you that I commissioned a spell to make you develop a crush on me, and then it _worked_?”

“Joke’s on you, asshole, because I had a crush on you from the moment I laid my high-as-fuck DayQuil eyes on you,” Shane answers before he thinks about it, too determined to win the argument to think about what he’s saying. It doesn’t occur to him until Ryan gives him a surprised, soft look, and he feels his shoulders hunch up. “Shut up,” he says quickly, before Ryan can say anything. “I’ve been tricked.”

“Gotcha, idiot,” Ryan tells him, grinning. “You fell right into my trap.”

“Every moment with Ryan is great,” Shane answers, rolling his eyes.

-

Ryan intentionally works up a list of topics that he knows will drive Shane crazy. Shane is easy to love but he’s hard to flirt with when he’s mad, because as much as he might want to his brain gets sidetracked. Buzzfeed _does_ have a hookup with an acupuncturist, but it turns out her schedule is packed so full that they can’t get her in for a month. So Ryan instead gets to talk to Shane about internet witchcraft in a recording studio packed full of people who want to watch him react.

It’s nice, to see Shane surrounded by people who love him; Ryan doesn’t spend a lot of time with the Buzzfeed crew, coming in to film and then otherwise meeting Shane either at Ryan’s apartment or somewhere that food is sold. They tried a few times to hang out st the Treasure Chest, but fans kept coming in and wanting to talk to them, and Ryan had felt paralyzed—afraid to stand too near to Shane, afraid to stand too far.

He knows he’s blowing every tiny move out of proportion but he can’t stop. It’s only when they’re alone hat he can feel himself relax, like he’s been holding his breath and has finally broken for air.

Ryan is ... not built for subterfuge.

Shane, on the other hand, seems fine. He’s gracious and easy in public, around people; he doesn’t seem to be worried that if he touches Ryan’s shoulder or jostles his arm people will know that they’ve had sex, that they ... like each other, or whatever.

Watching the witchcraft episode back later, his feet in Shane’s lap with the Lakers game on -- Shane typing away on his laptop, glasses on, muttering to himself -- he tries to watch on-camera Shane’s body language. Ryan himself looks stiff at first, like he hasn’t been since the original crystals video, but he relaxes as the episode goes on, joking and arguing with Shane and with people off camera.

In the final edit, Shane has mostly added comments along the lines of, “no” and “no!” and “NO.” Over a bit about women and power and the patriarchy he’s added, “YOU CANNOT REDUCE THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY TO WITCHCRAFT.”

Ryan scowls. “That’s _not_ what I was _saying_ ,” he grumbles, turning the screen toward Shane so he can see it.

Shane grins. “How frustrating it must be, to be forcibly engaged in a conversation you did not wish to enter,” he teases.

“Don’t _excluded from this narrative_ me!” Ryan protests. “We make a show about alternative remedies and lifestyles. This fits.”

“I never said it didn’t fit the _theme_ , I just think it’s _very_ stupid,” Shane returns easily. “And you don’t believe it either, I don’t care what you say for the views.”

Ryan doesn’t, actually, believe it, beyond the fact that he thinks self-expression in nearly all forms is generally healthy and a good way to explore and push back against the boundaries and limits society places on people, particularly women.

But he’s not telling Shane that, because he loves the way Shane’s stupid face scrunches up every time Ryan insists that “there’s really just no way to prove it either way.”

“Yes there is! There is! The spells don’t work!”

“How do _you_ know? Maybe they worked for somebody.”

“Ryan, I swear to God,” Shane says, his voice steady in the way it gets only when he’s getting worked up and doesn’t want anyone to know.

Ryan likes him so much it’s embarrassing. It’s genuinely embarrassing, how he wants to drag him outside and shove him in front of everyone Ryan knows. _I’m dating this big dumb weirdo!_ He wants to shout at his mom, Kelsey, his frat brothers, random passersby.

But—he can’t, of course. He can’t tell anyone at all.

-

The problem is that Shane, very suddenly, has everything he wants, and he can’t tell anybody about it. He doesn’t want TJ or Devon or Sara or Jen to be in a position to lie for him; he doesn’t want to make it weird for any mutual friends given that almost everyone he knows he knows because of Buzzfeed; and he doesn’t want to risk Ryan’s contract getting cancelled.

But he also doesn’t want to not be able to hold Ryan’s hand, not be able to kiss him, not be able to say half the shit that comes to his mind when they’re filming and Ryan says some dumb shit about the magical properties of bark or whatever. He doesn’t want the way that Ryan sometimes opens his mouth to say -- whatever, something, and has to swallow it back down again.

What was he going to say? What weird and preposterous thought was he having that now Shane will never get to know?

“I can’t believe the Goop people want you back,” Jen mutters, picking up the beautiful cardstock invitation on his desk. “Like. You don’t sell anything. _You_ don’t even _believe_ in any of it. You tweeted some very mean, if also very funny, things about the jade egg!”

“I am a hot ticket,” Shane confirms. “They must find my droll disdain appealing. I’m told people often do.”

“Are you gonna go?”

“I’m not sure. It will depend on whether Ryan can get somebody to watch the store, I guess.”

She nods. “But you’re definitely doing that thing in DC right? The like, poor man’s vidcon thing?”

“Yeah, we accepted that one. They want us to do like a panel discussion, I think. Ryan’s employee Kelsey got invited too, for some online gaming thing she does. So I think he’ll probably just close the store.”

Jen hums, still toying with the Goop invitation. Eventually she says, “Ryan’s been weird lately, hasn’t he? Is everything okay?”

Shane frowns. “Has he been weird?” he hedges. “I haven’t noticed.”

“Shane, he refuses to meet my eyes. Yesterday when he was in for VO stuff I said hello to him and he sprinted to the bathroom without responding.”

He can’t stop the wince that crosses his face, and he knows Jen sees it from the way her gaze sharpens on him. “Okay, that’s weird,” he admits. “I don’t know. I’ll talk to him.”

She leans in like an FBI interrogator. “Shane Alexander, did you break that very nice boy?” she accuses. “Is that what happened in Fairbanks? He told you he loved you and you did something stupid and Midwestern like repress your feelings and tell him you were better off as friends?”

“That’s not what happened,” Shane assures her honestly. “No. Nothing happened in Fairbanks except for a weird moment in a hot tub.”

“Well pre-Fairbanks Ryan _always_ stopped by my desk to see how I was doing and give me recommendations for weird naturopathic home remedies for my various problems. He once brought me a smudge stick. Now he screams and runs away when I say hello.”

“He’s —” _not a good liar_ , Shane thinks but doesn’t finish. He knows that he secrecy is weighing on Ryan in a different way than it’s weighing on Shane. “—been stressed.”

Jen gives him A Look. Shane hates Jen’s Looks.  They make him feel like he has betrayed her, personally and unforgivably. Which he kind of has, he guesses, though it’s for her own good and he only person whose career he’s risking is his own.

“Shane,” she says, gentle in a way that’s really gonna haunt Shane for like, _a while._

“Jen,” he replies, placidly as he can.

She frowns, but after a moment just says, “Don’t fuck this up,” before ruffling his hair and leaving the Goop invite on his desk.

-

The weird thing is: Ryan doesn’t _hate_ secret dating. Actually, there are parts of it he really likes; the ducking into alleys, the touching Shane beneath the _Alternatives_ desk, the little grins and moments of catching eyes that make his heartbeat pickup and his hands twitch. There’s something _sexy_ about the way Shane sometimes looks at him, absolutely bland and unheated, and yet Ryan can tell by the way his hands ball up into fists on his lap that it’s taking everything he has not to reach out and touch.

There’s an electricity to everything, a real shift in the energy between them; Shane sometimes will very abruptly into some unused conference room, yanking Ryan in behind him, and then kiss him up against the door like he’s arguing a point.

They are nearly caught by almost everyone Ryan knows at Buzzfeed, and he thinks they are saved only by now weird they’ve always been about each other, even before kissing was on the table. It’s not _that different_ to find them sitting too close on a couch, breathing heavily, yelling about whether astrology is real and if Shane being a Taurus is what makes him a stubborn asshole.

“It’s bull!” Shane says, shoveling a hand through his hair, giving himself a reason to be mussed.

“Well, you _would_ say that, you fucking Taurus sun with Taurus rising.”

Steven Lim from _Worth It_ blinks at them. “Ryan’s right,” he says after a long moment, and then turns on his heel and lopes out.

“See? Steven says I’m right,” Ryan gloats. “Suck it, Madej.”

“Okay,” Shane says, sinking to his knees.

“This is such a fucking Taurus way to win an argument,” Ryan points out, but at Shane’s look mimes zipping his lips. He keeps glancing nervously at the door, heart rate picking up. He’s not proud of the way that the risk of getting caught really does it for him. Who knew that all this time all he had to do to conquer his anxiety was make it sexy?

Shane’s mouth is ... hard to explain. It’s all the things that regular mouths are—warm, and wet, somehow soft, in a weird way? But it’s also not a regular mouth, it’s _Shane’s_ mouth, and every time he moves it feels like he’s _being_ _Shane_ on a way targeted specifically at Ryan’s dick.

His hands curl in Shane’s hair, not pressing him down, just holding on.

“Shane,” he murmurs. _This is so weird but it’s not impossible that I already know I’m going to fall in love with you._

Shane looks up. Ryan comes in his mouth.

He chokes a little, surprised, but recovers like a champ, swallowing quickly and climbing to his feet, grinning. “ _Now_ who’s a Taurus,” he says smugly, which doesn’t even make _sense._ Ryan laughs, slumping back against the couch.

“Still you, big guy,” he says fondly, and gathers him close to irritate him with kisses along his jawline.

-

Shane gets tricked into doing a video about work/life balance, because Sara asked and Sara is impossible to say no to.

It starts out pretty easy—they ask him about how many hours he works (“time actually doesn’t exist on any meaningful way, at the quantum level”), and what strategies he employees to “turn off” on the weekends (“I visit my friend Ryan and he waves crystals at me”) and whether his friendships within the workplace environment are as close and open as his friendships out of it (“My only LA friend outside of Buzzfeed is Ryan Bergara, and I _immediately_ made him my coworker by contract so I don’t understand the question”).

Then Sara says, “And what are your thoughts on office romances?”

“I’m not in an office romance,” he answers, blank and too quick.

She rolls her eyes. “I know that, dummy. We’re just asking everybody’s _opinions_.”

Shane gives her a suspicious glare but smooths his hands out on the table in front of him before saying, “I suppose I don’t see anything inherently ethically wrong with an office romance. People can meet and fall in love anywhere.”

Somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears Kelsey Darragh cough a word that sounds suspiciously like, “Fairbanks.” He ignores her.

“And would you, yourself, ever engage in one?” Sara goes on, smiling innocently at him.

Shane stretches out, trying to look casual and thoughtful. “Hm. What a question. I mean, when you really think about it, what is an office? What is romance? I think the real question worth examining here is the very spectrum of human relationships, which don’t always fall in a neat platonic/romantic binary.”

“ _Shane_.”

“Sure, I’d have an office romance,” Shane says. “If I met someone who really knocked my socks off.”

From the back, Kelsey shouts, “What if they were dumb hot but really into something weird, like, say, homeopathic medicinal alternatives?”

Shane laughs. “We’re not a couple,” he lies sternly. “We are two professionals who happen to enjoy each other enormously as people. Next question.”

Kelsey opens her mouth again, but Sara, who is Shane’s only true friend, slaps her hand over it. “How often do you bring your lunch versus buying it?” she asks, and Shane resolves to buy her one of those fancy teas she loves in gratitude.

-

Ryan still watches all of the videos Shane is in, because he’s a big dumb sap and because, whatever, Shane is funny and most of his coworkers are funny, and they make good content. So sue him.

Kelsey actually sends him the link to this one, the accompanying text reading simply, _i truly cannot wait to be the flowergirl at your wedding!!!!!_ It features a bunch of different employees, some that Ryan knows and some that he doesn’t; Shane says a bunch of things that are clearly designed to irritate whoever is behind the camera, which is pretty on-brand for him. It’s not until the end that he gets what Kelsey was getting at, and he calls Shane immediately.

“I _knock your socks off_?” Ryan asks, hoping Shane can’t hear how wide his grin is. “Shane, man. I’m touched. I’m really touched.”

“Stop watching my videos!” Shane cries. “This is a new rule.”

“Listen big guy, I support your career and want you to get as many views as physically possible,” Ryan tells him, sweetening his voice. “I want to take an interest in your life.”

Shane groans. “Sara made me do it,” he says. “She tricked me. I was bamboozled.”

Ryan hasn’t gotten the chance to hang out much with Sara; she’s not involved in _Alternatives_ and he hasn’t done a lot of socializing with the Buzzfeed crew outside of his time in the office recording. But he knows that she means a lot to Shane, that she’s one of those people for him that matters more than anybody else. Shane doesn’t have very many; Ryan thinks of Shane as _having_ a set of people and feeling vaguely neutral-to-positive about everybody else. Sara is clearly “had.”

He wants to get to know her, because she matters to Shane, so she matters to Ryan, and even if that weren’t the case she seems cool and funny and smart and she has a great cat. But—well. Of course they can’t hang out in any meaningful capacity, because they can’t tell her that Ryan is Shane’s boyfriend and he doesn’t want to start out by lying to her, not when she matters so much.

“She’s a minx and a trickster,” Shane is saying. “An untrustworthy _lout_.”

Ryan hears someone laugh in the background. Shane is probably still at work; it’s late in the afternoon but he stays late a lot, a product of being slow in the morning and sometimes not rolling in until 10am. The voice says something and Shane answers, “That’s because you _are_.  Don’t wave pictures of your cat at me, that won’t save—oh my God is he in a _Christmas sweater_? Ryan, I’m going to have to call you back.”

“Okay,” says Ryan, something squeezing in his chest. “I—” _could love you maybe????_ “will talk to you later.”

“Yeah,” Shane answers, voice going a little soft. “Sounds good.”

He hangs up, and Ryan looks down at his phone for a minute and then watches the As/Is video one more time, just to get to the part where Shane says, _people can meet and fall in love anywhere_.

-

The “DC thing” is calling itself WebCon, and the Buzzfeed staff has taken to calling it VidCon Lite, which is fair, if a little mean. Ryan’s employee Kelsey was invited for a panel on women in gaming, and also a panel on some new Sims expansion pack that apparently she plays ... live online? Shane doesn’t really understand the parts of Kelsey’s job that aren’t working at The Treasure Chest.

She had cheerfully announced that if they were going, she was also going, and crashing in their hotel room, “because that means Buzzfeed’s paying for it, which means I’m _not_ paying for it.” This is logic that Shane can’t argue with, or at least can’t argue with the actual argument he has, which is that he wants to have a room alone with Ryan so that he can have sex with him.

“Of course you can crash with us,” Ryan says, giving Shane a bug-eyed, unsubtle look that Kelsey very clearly clocks and very politely pretends not to. “We’ll get a cot in.”

“ _Or_ the two of you could share a bed and I could get the other one,” she says. “Unless you only got one bed, for some reason?”

A bubble of hysterical laughter pops out of Ryan’s throat. Shane struggles not to laugh at him and mostly fails. “Why? Why would we do that? Why would there be only one bed?”

“Sometimes hotels just do things,” Shane soothes him. “Remember Fairbanks?”

Kelsey’s head swivels to stare at him. “There was only one bed in Fairbanks?” she asks, and then swivels rapidly back to Ryan. “You didn’t tell me that there was _only one bed in Fairbanks._ ”

“I slept on a cot,” Shane lies.

“That wasn’t in the video,” says Kelsey.

“Wasn’t it? Weird,” he answers.

Ryan, sweating, says in an octave only dogs can hear: “YOU ARE WELCOME TO STAY WITH US IN DC.”

Shane and Kelsey both blink at him, and he wipes is hands on his thighs before pushing up to go re-arrange something that doesn’t need re-arranging in the back of the store. “... Anyway,” says Shane, “I think our panel is at the end of the first day so we just have the one night. Our flights back are pretty early Monday morning, I think.”

“That’s fine,” Kelsey says. “I’ve got stuff until that night _but_ they’ve promised me I’ll be done in time to catch a flight that night. So no worries.”

Shane likes Kelsey a lot, though they are very different people. It’s clear to him that Kelsey cares about Ryan, which is one of Shane’s favorite traits in people, and also she loves Disneyland as much as Ryan does so there’s absolutely no obligation for Shane to do any of his weird Disney stuff with him. She is, in this respect, providing an absolutely invaluable service to him.

“Cool,” Shane says. “I am a quiet sleeper but Ryan is a nightmare, just warning you.”

Before Kelsey can answer, Ryan’s head pops out from the back. “No I’m not,” he defends himself, offended. “I’m a great sleeper. Don’t listen to Shane, Shane doesn’t know anything.”

“He’s very hot,” Shane says conspiratorially, leaning in toward Kelsey but not lowering his voice. “Physically, I mean. _Bodily._ ”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says.

*

Ryan loves DC. He’s not much of an east coaster, and he recognizes that the District of Columbia is an odd choice for his favorite eastern city, but he likes how sprawling and weird and badly laid out it is. New York stresses Ryan out and Boston has people who support the _Celtics_ , so DC gets his loyalty. Who cares about the Wizards? Nobody.

The three of them arrive at the hotel with little fanfare; there are two beds this time, for which Ryan is grateful, but they get Kelsey a cot anyway, for form’s sake. Both he and Shane exchange glances around offering to take the cot instead of one of the beds, but she shuts them both up by dropping her bag on the cot and saying, “I am happy here, leave me be,” so Shane shrugs flings himself onto the bed by the window.

Their panel is late in the afternoon so Ryan takes the opportunity to shower and change. When he comes back to the room, Shane is lounging on the bed and Kelsey has made neat piles of all her clothes. She slips into the bathroom after him and Shane grins, patting the bed.

“Shane, she’s _right there_ ,” Ryan hisses.

“She’s in the shower!” Shane whispers back. “She’s listening to music! It’s loud!”

Ryan points a finger at him. “No,” he says sternly, but gets into bed after throwing on some sweatpants anyway. He lays half on Shane, leaning his head against his shoulder and letting Shane fuss with his hair while he messes around on his computer. It’s nice. Ryan wishes they had a whole weekend of it, the two of them and nobody who could get them in trouble if they get caught.

Impulsively, he stretches up to kiss Shane’s mouth. Shane grins into it; even without saying anything Ryan can _hear him_ being smug.

“Shut up,” he says, pulling back. “I can hear your facial expressions.”

Shane laughs. “I can’t help what my face does,” he points out. “Honestly it’s usually very quiet.”

Ryan rubs a thumb along the edge of Shane’s wrist. “I just -- I’m not good at ...” he shrugs. “I can’t turn it on and off.”

“Turn what on and off?”

“My ... _feelings_ , or whatever.”

Shane blinks, shifting so that he can look down at Ryan’s face. “Do you think that’s what I do?” he asks. “Ryan. Just because I’m good at hiding it doesn’t mean I _turn my feelings off._ I have feelings all the time. I’m full of ’em.”

“Yeah but you’re so -- yours aren’t sprawled out on your face all the time,” Ryan mutters, not a little petulantly. “I can’t help that I was raised in California and our culture promotes radical openness.”

Shane is still laughing when the shower shuts off, but they’re a safe distance apart when Kelsey re-emerges, dressed and ready. With a sigh, Shane heaves himself off the bed and grabs clothes on his way into the bathroom; Ryan drags himself over to his suitcase and digs through it to find his outfit for the panel. He’s going to wear a shirt with flamingos on it. It’s dope. Kelsey laughs at him when she sees it, but whatever; Kelsey is getting a free hotel room, so she can shut up.

“Will you be upset if I don’t come to your panel?” Kelsey asks, already scrolling through vendors. Ryan watches her screenshot the location of someone selling teddy bears wearing sunglasses. “Will this be reflected in my employee review at the end of the year?”

He laughs. “Nah,” he says. “Honestly, I don’t even really feel like _I_ need to be on the panel, they’re just going to ask Shane a bunch of stuff about producing. I’m just the talent, baby.”

She ruffles his hair. “There’s nothing ‘just’ about talent, Bergara,” she scolds him lightly, before kissing his cheek and flouncing out the door, taking the sunshine with her, hollering goodbye at Shane as she goes.

When he emerges, wet and disgruntled and _Shane_ , Ryan has to physically take a step back. He says, “I want,” bites it off, and corrects: “We should head over and get our passes and stuff. I -- there isn’t time to, uh. But after?”

Shane laughs at him. His eyes are warm and squished and focused entirely on Ryan when he says: “Yeah, RyGuy. After,” and then he turns away to pull on a t-shirt that says THE TREASURE CHEST IN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, IS NOT A SEX SHOP on it.

Ryan, despite his best intentions, tackles him onto the bed and makes out with him until both their alarms go off.

They’re late to the panel.

-

 _It’s been wild. This whole journey. It really feels like something that the universe knit together_ for _me, you know? Like I had very little impact in the creation of it._

**Except of course for opening your own small business, naming it something dubious, accepting an offer of work from Buzzfeed, agreeing to make a show with me, extensively researching every topic we’ve ever talked about, and being an incredible social media maven.**

_I’m not a_ social media --

**Ryan, we’ve _all seen_ your instagram. You are _one step_ from becoming an influencer.**

_Okay. That’s not -- no, don’t clap! Don’t agree with him, he’s already unbearable, you can’t_ applaud _his terrible ideas._

**Two episodes ago you told me I needed to ‘realign my aura’ and you weren’t joking. _I_ have terrible ideas? _I_ do?**

_Yes. You do._

**Ryan believes in rabbit’s feet.**

_Just because you refuse to open your eyes to the mysterious workings of the universe doesn’t mean the universe_ isn’t mysterious, _dude._

**Do not clap for that. Folks, do NOT clap for that.**

_ANYWAY, the question was, I think, was did I expect the show to get this big, and the short answer is: no. No way. I don’t think either one of us really thought it would go past one season. It legit just started because Shane and I wanted to argue with each other._

**It’s true. The second I met Ryan I knew he was going to be the world’s most irritating man and that I wanted to tell him that a bunch more times.**

_And I knew Shane was a massive weirdo. And I do mean massive, because he is obviously a Bigfoot--_

**I’ll bet you do _actually believe_ in Bigfoot. Don’t you.**

_..._

_So what I’m saying is, I think we both feel really blessed._

**Ryan --**

_Next question?_

-

The panel goes well -- really well, _surprisingly_ well -- but Ryan abandons him right after, rushing back to the hotel to change and meet his friends. They’re going to a _basketball game_ , of all things; he had invited Shane along, but Shane has never and will never do Sports, so he waves him off. Anyway, they’ve been together all day and Shane hasn’t been able to touch him once, not even in a casual way, other than to jostle him during the panel. There were always other people there, demanding their attention, and Shane is tired of being with Ryan and not getting to, like, _be with_ Ryan.

Anyway, Shane only sort of likes people, and not to be an asshole but he’s already pretty sure he’s going to be exhausted by Ryan’s frat friends. They’re probably very loud.

Instead, he meets up with Kelsey at the hotel restaurant and they get dinner. They’re both just looking to have an early night, Kelsey so that she’s bright-eyed for her gaming stuff tomorrow and Shane because he’s wiped from a long day of talking to strangers.

They split a bottle of wine, to unwind. What’s one bottle of wine?

“Man, I _like you_ ,” Kelsey announces, once they’ve finished it off and their waiter is bringing them another, because what’s two bottles of wine? Between two people that’s only one bottle each, which is like, what, four glasses? What’s four glasses? Shane had pasta for dinner. He’s fine. “You’re funny.”

“ _You’re_ funny,” Shane insists, earnestly. “Ryan never lets me hang out with you because he knows I’ll convince you that I’m right and his stuff is stupid.”

Kelsey laughs. She takes a long sip. “At first I wasn’t sure about you because--I mean, you were like, _Ryan you’re dumb_ , and Ryan is ... I mean ... _you_ know. You know how Ryan is.”

“I do,” Shane agrees with an energetic nod. “Oh my God, I know _exactly_.”

“Right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay! So he’s -- like that. But then I watched a bunch of the videos and I saw you guys together and I _got it_.”

Shane blinks. “Got what?”

“That you like, _love_ him,” Kelsey tells him blithely, and then laughs at the look on his face. “No! I mean. Well. Maybe, I don’t know you that well. But I mean -- you wouldn’t -- you’re like _Ryan you’re dumb_ but you don’t _mean_ it because you think he’s _great_ , that’s what I mean. And he is! He is great, he’s so great. I made Sims of you guys. I sent you on _vacation_. You fell in love in my Sims.”

Shane thinks that he isn’t following because of how drunk he is, which is not drunk enough to follow drunk logic, so he finishes his glass and pours himself another. “Where did we go?” he asks. “In your Sims?”

“Fairbanks!” crows Kelsey, and laughs again, hard enough that she nearly knocks her glass of water over. “You went to _Alaska_. You slept in a _tent._ Mickey Mouse was there, but just for regular reasons.”

That makes sense to Shane. Sure. Why shouldn’t Mickey Mouse go on vacation to Fairbanks, Alaska, with Sim Shane and Sim Ryan? They all work hard. Mickey Mouse was a mouse _and_ a CEO. They all deserved a break. Shane took another long drink. The wine was good! He’d had pasta!

“I loved Ryan in Fairbanks,” Shane hears himself say, somewhat dreamily, and then remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be talking about that. So he says, “In the episode, he was good.”

“It was very sexy,” Kelsey tells him seriously.

“Have some more wine,” says Shane.

-

They have a lot more wine.

Also a shot of something? Someone buys it. Not Shane. Not Kelsey either, probably. At some point they run into a group of people that seem to know either one or both of them and they say HEY and Shane and Kelsey are like, HEY. And then drinks show up and Shane has not eaten enough pasta to keep up with them.

By the end of the night, Kelsey declares Shane “her favorite new favorite,” and they are planning a trip to Knotts Berry Farm together. Ryan isn’t back from the basketball game--“He’s probably _out_ with his _friends,_ ” Shane says, miserably--so they flop down on one of the beds and put the tv on. Shane can’t be bothered with pajamas and Kelsey can’t figure out how to take her sweatshirt off.

“I’m going to feel _bad_ tomorrow,” Kelsey whines, tucking into Shane’s side. “My _head._ It’s going to _hurt._ I have to _play the Sims._ ”

“It’s the blood,” Shane explains knowledgeably. “That’s what hurts. The alcohol.”

Kelsey nods. “I don’t want it to hurt,” she moans. “I’m nice I don’t deserve it.”

“We had _pasta_ ,” Shane agrees, and gives her a sympathetic pat on the head.

Then he sits up suddenly, a stroke of genius lighting up in his brain. He can’t make Ryan come back from sports and he can’t fix their contract problem and he can’t do anything except what he is doing already but he can cure Kelsey’s drunk blood. He knows how.

He rolls over messily, digging around in his bag. He knows the instant he finds it, and lets out a smug shout as he curls his hands around the smooth edges. He hands it to Kelsey with a satisfied grin. “This will cure you,” he explains. “Ryan says. I don’t know how, myself, but Ryan says, and as we both know, he is very smart even though he is very dumb.”

Kelsey looks at the dark red stone in her hand and frowns. “What’s it?” she asks.

“Garnet. Ryan gave it to me. It can be used for _blood purification purposes_ ,” Shane announces, and then promptly passes out.

-

Three days after Ryan gets back from WebCon, Kelsey shows up at his apartment, wild-eyed. He hasn’t seen her since DC; she isn’t scheduled this week and he had flown out with Shane before she’d finished with her game thing.

She and Shane had apparently become best friends, in Ryan’s absence; they keep talking about Sim Alternatives, which in hindsight is something Ryan should have guessed existed.

 _mickey deserves a vacation today,_ Kelsey had texted the group this morning, and Shane had replied immediately: _BENEFITS FOR WORKING MICE NOW!_ _✊_

Now she is standing at his front door, an address he hadn’t even known she _knew,_ with her livestream headphones still on, unplugged and dangling at her side. She pushes her way excitedly into his house before he can invite her in, giddily reaching for her satchel.

“RYAN, oh my God,” she cries, “Oh my _God._ ”

He frowns, holding out his hands in a soothing gesture. “What?” he asks. “What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, she thrusts out her hand. She’s holding a garnet. Ryan looks at it, and then at her, and then back at it. Her face is expectant.

“That’s garnet,” he says blankly.

“Yes!” crows Kelsey, face lit up like Ryan’s Himalayan salt lamp. “It’s garnet! It’s for blood purification!”

“And sexual dysfunction,” Ryan can’t keep himself from adding. “Kels, I’m sorry, I’m really lost here. Do you have a blood disease?”

“Yes, it’s called Bad Decisions With Wine,” she answers, impatient. “When Shane and I got plastered in DC, I was whining about my impending hangover, and he gave me this. To help.”

It’s _Shane’s garnet,_ Ryan realizes. The one he’d given him at their second meeting, before the "Skeptics Try" video. “He kept it?” he asks, surprised.

“Yes, and then _gave it to me,_ to cure my hangover. He didn’t—he didn’t give me Advil or water or electrolytes, Ryan, get with the program! He gave me this! Garnet! For _blood purification!_ ” She shakes her head, annoyed with herself. “I completely forgot about it. In the morning I was like ‘what the heck is this’ but just packed it and assumed it was some weird Drunk Kelsey purchase, only then today I was doing a Twitch and suddenly it like, _came to me._ Ryan! Shane loves you! He totally loves you!”

Ryan looks at the garnet again, taking it slowly from Kelsey’s hand. It’s exactly like it looked when Ryan has given it to him, but then it would; garnet is harder than steel. Ryan tries to understand what it meant, exactly, that Shane kept it, that Shane had given it to Kelsey thinking it would really work.

“He said he _loved you in Fairbanks_ ,” Kelsey squeals. “I mean he tried to couch it right after but he _meant_ it, I could _tell_.”

 _Just because I’m good at hiding it doesn’t mean I turn my feelings off,_ Shane had said _. I have feelings all the time. I’m full of ’em._

“Oh my God, he _loves_ me,” Ryan realizes, looking up.

Kelsey is bouncing on the balls of her feet, so happy that she lights Ryan’s whole apartment with it.

“He loves you!” she yells, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

Ryan really likes _Alternatives_ and doesn’t really want to get fined or whatever over a breach of contract, but Shane loves him.

 _Shane_ does. _Shane_.

He completely forgets to tell Kelsey goodbye when he sprints out of the apartment.

-

When Shane opens the door, Ryan is standing there with crazy eyes, holding Shane’s garnet in one hand and his signed copy of his contract with Buzzfeed in the other.

“Uh, hey man,” Shane greets cautiously. “Want to—come in?”

Ryan slowly, solemnly holds up his contract. He is looking Shane right in the eyes as he rips it in half.

Shane blinks.

“What ... is happening?” he asks.

“I quit. The contract, _Alternatives_ , whatever. I quit.”

Shane’s throat closes up. His heart drops to the floor. He says, “This is—just ripping up the contract is not how that works,” because he can’t think of anything else to say except _please don’t go._

Ryan shrugs. “I love you,” he says, dropping the contract. “I don’t want to wait until the contract expires to tell everyone I know that I’m in love with you, I’m dating you, you’re my boyfriend. I want—Shane I don’t ever want you to _hide your feelings for me,_ oh my God, I want you to make a fucking _billboard_ about them. I’m embarrassing. I love you. Please date me out loud.”

Shane—sits down. On the floor. He stares up at Ryan and tries to get his emotional whiplash under control.

“Okay,” he says slowly. Ryan sinks down to Shane’s level, eyes warm and kind. “I mean—Ryan, you gotta slow down, man. Are we breaking up or not?”

“No,” Ryan says instantly. “We aren’t. We’re going to be together now, for real and not in secret. If that means the show ends and I pay a dumb fine, then that’s what I’ll do. I don’t care. I don’t ever want you to have to hide or repress your stupid emotions because I don’t want to hide or repress mine. Also, Kelsey knows.”

“Oh,” says Shane faintly. "This is a lot of information all that once." There’s a sound in his ears. He thinks it’s his heartbeat. He thinks it’s the sound of everything he wants coming toward him, shouting his name. He reaches out and drags Ryan in by the stupid collar of his stupid shirt and says: “I love you. I want — to date you out loud.”

“Cool,” says Ryan, beaming, and kisses him so hard that both their mouths hurt.

**epilogue**

“Oh, yeah,” says Jen, rolling her eyes. It’s hard to take the derision seriously when she’s smiling that widely at him, though. “I know.”

“You _know_?” echoes Shane. “What do you mean you _know_? We were so good at keeping it a secret!”

“You absolutely were _not_ that,” Jen tells him. “Literally everyone has walked in on you. It was the worst.”

“But—”

“The real problem is that Ryan doesn’t read his paperwork,” Jen goes on, ignoring his protests. “Which I know because if he did he’d have noticed the new language in the revision I sent him _literal months ago._ ”

Shane looks at Ryan, who looks at Jen. “What?” he asks.

“The revision. I told you we had a filing mishap. You just signed it and sent it back clearly without reading it because I took out the whole bit about conflict of interest and declared you two ‘in a close relationship’. So. You could have dated at literally any time and it would have been fine, but Shane insisted on lying to my face about it, and you clearly don’t do your due diligence, so here we all are.”

She looks very smug and unbearable. Shane wants to hug her for a million years.

“So—we’re fine?” he asks. “We can do the show and still—?”

Jen’s smile is warm and wide as she nods. Ryan laughs, picks her up in a hug and swings her around. She extends an arm to drag Shane in. “My boys,” she says fondly. “My beautiful idiot boys.”

**epilogue two**

“I want you and your biceps to know that I’m disappointed in you for not paying better attention to your important paperwork,” Shane tells Ryan, mouth hot on his neck, sucking a mark. He has Ryan pressed against the door of Ryan’s apartment, and neither one of them can find the doorknob.

Ryan tries fuzzily to figure out what the fuck Shane is talking about, and also to get his hands past Shane’s fucking belt. “Me and my biceps?” he repeats absently.

“You’re both responsible,” Shane tells him, pointing a stern finger, and then finds the doorknob and tumbles Ryan inside.


End file.
